Double Trouble
by jane0904
Summary: A body in mysterious circumstances, an old friend, book awards, and Castle has something of a conundrum to solve, while Beckett has her own problems, mainly with him. Now complete. Might be more in the future ...
1. Chapter 1

So far he'd managed to tune her out, but that wasn't going to last much longer. There were times, like now, when he wondered why he'd ever married her. Actually, he wondered that all the time, which was probably at least one of the reasons why they'd got divorced. Right now he was distracted by the beads around her sweater neckline, and had three times tried to count them, but she kept moving.

"And I suppose you've spent all of the advance?" Gina Cowell glared at him, her perfectly coiffured blonde hair almost vibrating in anger.

Rick Castle, darling of the celebrity circuit, beloved by millions for his enormous … talent, smirked. "Nope. I've been a good boy and invested it."

"What in, poker chips?" Gina was on a roll. "Playing with your cronies when you should have been writing."

"It's called doing research."

"It's called being lazy and not getting off your backside." She put her hands on her hips. "You promised another three chapters."

"Did I?"

"Yes. At least ten thousand words." Unable to keep still she now crossed her arms. "And you've let me down. Again."

Again. He sighed, hearing their short life together summed up in that one word. Still, whatever else she was, Gina was a good editor, and he had to give her something. "I was busy." Okay, not much, but something.

"Going out on crime scenes. Solving murders."

He hadn't been able to keep her from finding out, not with his mother and daughter living in the same apartment, and the former particularly not known for her tact and ability to keep secrets. "Research. Again. You know full well my new character's based on a certain female detective. How can I possibly be creative without getting under her skin?"

"Like a parasite. Anyway, isn't that what imagination is for?"

"Now, Gina, you know me." He tried the smile, the one that had been warming the cockles of women's hearts since he was still in short pants and his mother's cronies were hanging on his every word. "I have to live and breathe the details. About the only thing I've never done is kill someone just to find out what it feels like." Although that could be close, he admitted to himself.

"To write it, Rick. Write. Not look at and ogle. Write."

On the edge of his consciousness he heard the bell for the front door, and vaguely wondered whether someone would get it, but most of his current concentration was on his ex-wife. "Gina. Sweetheart. I promise there is nothing I want more than to get something down on paper. And it's coming. Soon."

"It had better be." She turned and went to the study door. "You don't want to cross me, Rick."

"I wouldn't dream of it." The smile now seemed fixed on his lips. "It'll be with you. When have I ever let you down?"

"Oh, all the time."

"That's just because you bring out the worst in me."

"It's not like it has to be brought out far." She tossed another glare over her shoulder, then threw the door open, her exit slightly marred by coming face to face with Martha Rodgers.

"Look who's just arrived." Rick's mother, her red hair shining, was standing in the middle of the hall, her arm around a woman who was smiling slightly.

"Hi, Rick," the newcomer said, a black suitcase at her feet.

"Maggie?" Rick's jaw dropped. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't I just come and visit for a while?" AJ Maguire, known to her friends and occasional enemies as Maggie, chuckled. Standing at a shade over five eight, she wore her habitual long black leather coat over a bright red polo neck jumper and blue jeans. Her hair, almost black, spiked around her face, just a little flushed from the cold air outside.

"No." He tempered his word with a grin.

"Oh." She laughed, and it warmed him through. "You know me too well."

Gina, however, was less than pleased. "Well."

Maggie smiled at her. "Hello, Gina."

"Just arrived?"

"Mmn."

"Good flight?"

"A little cramped."

"You should have flown Club. I always do."

"Really."

The blonde pasted on a fake smile. "So when are you going to see sense and come over to Black Pawn?" she asked, stepping forward, her perfume preceding her.

Maggie's forehead creased. "And why would I want to do that?"

"Because we can give you a much better deal than your current company. I have it on good authority that you're missing out on at least six figures."

Maggie bit her lip as if in thought. "Would it mean working with you?"

"Yes."

"Then I think I'll stay right where I am." She smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"Fine. Say no to lots more money." Her face switched off and she glanced back at the man behind her. "By the end of the week, Rick."

"Of course."

She headed towards the front door, thrusting her arms into her fur coat as she went, her heels click clacking on the wooden floor.

He waited until she had it open before calling. "Gina."

She turned to glare at him, framed in the doorway. "What?"

"Here." He tossed her the large envelope he'd snagged from the desk when her back was turned.

She grabbed it, somewhat ungainly, to her chest in an effort to stop it falling to the floor. "What is it?" she demanded, staring at the manila in case it should explode in her face.

"Three chapters." He grinned. "As promised."

Her mouth opened with a retort, then closed quickly with an audible snick of her teeth. "You really are a bastard." She span on her heel and strode for the elevator.

"I see you still have a way with women," Maggie said, unable to keep the laugh from her voice.

"A few." He pulled her into a hug. "Damn, it's good to see you."

"I know." She leaned into him. "It's been a while."

"Too long. I was beginning to think I'd lost my animal magnetism."

"Rick, that makes you sound like you do unfortunate things with dogs or horses or something," she pointed out, stepping from his embrace.

"That was a rumour put about by unscrupulous tabloid journalists." He twinkled at her. "So. The Pattersons." Named after James Patterson, these were the latest in a long line of awards mystery and thriller writers gave themselves.

"Afraid so."

"You're nominated, aren't you?"

Her eyebrows raised slightly. She obviously hadn't realised he kept tabs on her. "Mmn. For _A Lying Smile_."

"Good book."

"Thanks."

"And your publisher told you if you didn't turn up, she was going to personally send those photos to the press."

Maggie laughed. "Oh, definitely too well."

"Photos?" Martha asked, but no-one enlightened her.

Rick was pleased. "Glad you gave in. And you're searching for some exceptionally good looking man to take you."

"And yet I end up at your door." She sighed, not at all surprised. "I have a table. Well, my publisher paid, but …" She looked him up and down. "Okay, yes, I admit it. I was wondering, if you weren't going with some young lovely whose birthday and IQ are pretty much the same, whether you'd like to come with me."

"What about … God, who was it? Igor?"

"Ivan." She sighed again. "He left me."

If she'd looked at all upset he'd have taken her into his arms and hugged her again, but she didn't, so he quashed the urge. "What happened this time?"

"He wanted me to buy him a Maserati, and I declined."

"He only wanted you for your money. I told you that."

"I know. And I came to the conclusion a long time ago that's about the only thing I have to appeal to anyone."

He looked at her from under his eyebrows. "Maggie, you know that's not true."

She shrugged. "Whatever."

"So where are you staying?"

The front door opened again and Rick's fifteen year old daughter hurried in. "Oh, you're already here." Alexis smiled at Maggie.

Rick looked from the woman to the girl. "You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not." She walked forwards. "Maggie and I often chat on the phone."

"That why my bill is through the roof?"

"Of course."

"And I thought it was your grandmother calling all her conquests."

"Darling, they call me," Martha put in, smiling warmly.

"And I'm going to a hotel," Maggie said quickly. "I've got a reservation at –"

"No, you're not," Alexis said, interrupting, a determined look lighting her pale face. "You're staying here."

Maggie shook her head. "No. I can't put you out."

"It's no bother." Alexis looked at her father. "Is it?"

He couldn't have grinned much wider. "Nope. No bother at all. Of course you're staying with us."

"So no more naked trips to the kitchen at 3 in the morning," his daughter said pointedly.

"Since when do I do that?"

"Dad, I've got far too intimate a knowledge of masculine development as it is."

Rick narrowed his eyes. "You'd better not say that where anyone can hear. Child Services could still come and take you away." He paused. "On the other hand …"

"Just put some pants on." She picked up Maggie's bag. "The guest room's ready. I'll help you unpack."

---

Esposito looked up at Ryan from where he was crouched in the melting snow. "Are you going to call her, or shall I?"

"I don't know. It's supposed to be her day off."

"Yeah, but this one …"

"I know. Okay. Flip you for it." He pulled a handful of change from his pocket and selected a quarter. "Call." Balancing the coin on his thumb, he expertly tossed it into the air, catching it on the back of his hand and covering it with his palm.

"Tails."

Ryan checked. "Heads. Your turn."

"Damn." Esposito sighed but took his cellphone from inside his jacket.

Grinning, Ryan shook his head. His partner would get him next time, he was sure of it, but right now he didn't really want to be the one to tell Kate Beckett that she had another one of the funnies to deal with. And not 'funny ha ha', either. He looked down at the body and the smile faded. The ways people could find to get themselves killed in this town …


	2. Chapter 2

Kate Beckett attempted, once again, to hang the picture straight, but when she stepped back it was still crooked. She sighed heavily. Perhaps it was the wall. Maybe her newest acquisition was perfectly vertical, and the wall was off.

The music didn't help. So far it had been playing from before eight that morning, and as much as she was a fan of certain composers, even groups, it was loud and it was starting to really piss her off.

The trouble was, she knew exactly who was playing it. He'd only been in residence for about three weeks, and already he'd made a very fumbling pass at her in the elevator, and sent a huge bunch of flowers as an apology. Apart from the fact he looked about twelve, and she wasn't into cradle snatching, he wasn't her type, although lately she had been wondering just what type that was.

Still, the bass was now making things bounce on the shelves, and enough was enough.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she stormed out into the main hall, stopping before her neighbour's door and banging on it.

After a moment the music was muted – thank God – and she could hear footsteps.

The door opened. "Oh, hi, Kate." The young man grinned at her. "What can I do for you? Do you want to come in? I can make some coffee. Or maybe send out for doughnuts? Isn't that what all you cops eat?"

Kate didn't smile back. "That music. Keep it turned down."

"Huh?"

"The music, Greg. Keep it down."

"Oh. Sorry." Greg Albery held up his hand, two small white plugs in his palm. "I had my ear plugs in."

"Ear …" She stared at him. "You were playing music that loudly and you had ear plugs in."

"Was it loud?" He glanced over his shoulder at the offending music system. "Sorry. I hadn't realised. I'm working, and sometimes I just have to tune out."

Kate was sorely tempted to go and get her gun and just shoot the idiot right now, except that would involve a lot of paperwork. "If you need to tune out, turn the music off."

"But I can't work without music." He jerked his head. "I'm trying to write a book."

_No, please, not another one._ She offered up the heartfelt prayer but managed to swallow the sigh, and instead just glared at him. "I don't care. Keep the music turned down. Or buy a Walkman, I don't care. Just don't go disturbing everyone again!"

He looked like he was the world's biggest puppy and she'd just kicked him. "I'm sorry, Kate. I didn't realise. And of course I'll keep it down. I didn't …" He sniffed a little.

_Don't cry. Please don't cry. _"Well, good." A noise from inside her apartment caught her attention. "That's my cellphone. I have to go."

He nodded. "Okay. Maybe we can have coffee another time. Or perhaps dinner …"

His voice faded as she closed her door, but she knew he was still staring. So far he wasn't a nuisance, but she could see the day … Picking up her cell she stabbed the on button with her thumb and said, "What?"

"Nice to talk to you too," Esposito said.

She stared at her image in the large mirror over the hall stand. Her forehead was like granite, and her eyes … she closed them and took a deep breath. "It's my day off."

"I know. And I'm sorry. But you know how you like the freaky ones."

Her eyes slammed open again, and this time her reflection was almost smiling. "Tell me."

---

A series of whiteboards, covered in notes and sheets of paper held on by various magnets, were standing across the end of the study. Rick was staring at them, tapping the marker in his hand on his teeth.

"That bad, huh?"

He turned in his seat and saw Maggie standing in the open doorway, a smile on her lips.

"Nope. Not at all. Just thinking."

"Mmn. Thinking."

He watched as she approached the boards, staring intently at the boards' contents. "Yeah, you know," he went on. "Pondering. Cogitating. Mulling over. Contemplating." He made an emphatic motion with the pen. "Thinking."

"Writer's block?"

"No." Now he was on the defensive. "Not at all."

"Really. Odd, that. I've only ever known you plan things out to this level of detail when you're stuck."

He put his feet on the corner of the desk. "Then maybe you know _me_ too well."

She grinned over her shoulder, then turned back. "You know, this isn't bad. I like the beginning. And the end. It's just a bit … stodgy in the middle."

"I hope you're talking about my plot and not my waistline."

"Oh, yes." Maggie half-closed her green eyes, staring at the words as if they could speak to her. "You could …" She paused.

"Go ahead."

"Are you going to take offence?"

"No. I'm curious to know what you'd do."

"Oh, not me. But _you_ could …" Stepping forwards she tapped the board. "Keep it up to here. Definitely have a copycat killer. Only no-one knows he's the copycat, that there is even a copycat in the first place." She licked her lips, her tongue moving slowly. "Then the copycat is killed, possibly in what seems like an accident, and the police find enough proof to hang him. If he wasn't already dead, that is. Only the real killer murdered him, and is after your heroine. That would then lead quite naturally into the ending you have here."

"So basically just junk the middle third of my carefully wrought plan."

She laughed. "Pretty much."

He gazed at her. "Damn."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should."

"You could make it a lot more complicated, of course. The real killer is a cop, who became a police officer because he wanted to be involved with serious crimes, only he slowly realises that it isn't enough, so he starts killing as a way to get the high, then …" She stopped and grinned. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm so grateful I'll dedicate it to you."

"Rather have a share of the profits."

"Not that grateful."

She laughed again, dropping onto the leather sofa as he turned the chair to follow her. "Thought not."

"So … you don't seem too cut up about Igor."

"Ivan."

"Yeah, him. I told you he wasn't good enough for you." He tossed the marker pen onto the desk. "He had shifty eyes."

"You only met him once."

"It was enough."

She pulled her red sweater down more firmly. "It's not like they're queuing up around the block, Rick."

"You just don't put yourself out there enough."

"You mean like you do?"

His lips twitched. "I can't help it if women find me overwhelmingly desirable."

"Well, no-one seems to feel that way over me."

She really believed that no-one could want her for herself, and no matter what he or anyone else said, she wasn't going to change her mind. He sighed. "You should have said yes when I asked."

She put her head back on the leather, inhaling the dark brown smell appreciatively. "Maybe I should."

Before he could comment, his cellphone rang. Tossing papers aside on the desk top, he finally located it and punched the button.

"Yo. Talk to me." He saw Maggie smile, mouth the word _Yo?_ then shake her head. He listened carefully. "You're kidding." There was another pause. "Where?" Making rapid notes on a pad, he clicked the pen half a dozen times. "I'll be there in …" He glanced at his watch. "Fifteen," he finished. "Is Kate on her way?"

Maggie leaned forward. _Kate?_

"See you there." He clicked the phone off and stood up. "Maggie, I know this isn't fair, and I normally wouldn't do it to a guest, but you're … well, you're Maggie, and there's this dead body that I have to –"

"You're dumping me for a corpse?" Her eyebrows raised, then she laughed. "Of course you are. You're Rick Castle."

Picking up his jacket he shrugged into the arms. "What time do you have to be at the ceremony?"

"Invitation says seven thirty."

He nodded, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything. "I'll be back well before that. Cinderella, you will go to the ball." He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling, then almost ran out.

Martha stepped back as her son grabbed his coat and scarf. "Rick?"

"Gotta go. Entertain Maggie," Rick said, kissing her on the cheek before opening the front door. "Kate needs me." Another flash of a grin and he was gone, the door slamming closed behind him.

Martha shook her head then turned to the study. Maggie was standing in the doorway.

"Who's Kate?" the younger woman asked, a quizzical look on her face.

---

Lanie Parish looked up. "You sure can pick 'em," she said.

"Now, you know we only save the best for you," Ryan responded, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. The short winter day was on its last legs, and the cold air was making his fingers go numb. It didn't help that this particular body had been dumped in what felt like a wind tunnel in the centre of a maze of office blocks. "T.O.D?"

"Are you kidding me?" Lanie shook her head. "In this weather I'll be lucky to thaw myself out, let alone her."

"Guess."

"I don't guess."

"Try," Esposito put in.

"Is he trying to make you be unprofessional?" Kate asked, striding up to them, her red scarf flapping in the arctic wind.

"It isn't going to work, and I don't have a time of death, before you ask." Lanie smiled at her friend. "They got you involved?"

Kate shrugged. "I was only sitting at home anyway."

"Don't tell me. You were bored out of your mind."

"Nearly. So very nearly."

"You do know a man can freeze to death in less than three minutes, don't you?" Ryan complained, stamping his feet.

"Less, on a bad day, but I can't say that's going to matter to her," the medical examiner said, turning back to the body.

Kate's eyebrow raised. "She was found like this?"

"Apparently the case was closed, but someone was nosy. Probably tried to lift it, take it away," Esposito explained. "Looks like the lock gave, popped the lid."

Hurrying feet announced another arrival.

"What did I miss?" Rick asked, gazing from one to the other, rubbing his hands together.

"All right, who called him?" Kate demanded, but neither of her colleagues would even look at her. "Fine." Her jaw clenched.

"Sweetie, you grind your teeth like that, we're going to have to take you to the dentist," Rick said, turning his charming smile onto full. "And you wouldn't like that."

"Just … don't touch anything."

"Do I ever?"

"Yes."

"But I'm learning." He looked down at the body and his eyes widened. "Wow."

"Yeah," Esposito agreed.

The corpse was a young woman, not much more than a girl, dressed in only a black lace bra and panties. Her skin was pale, very pale, but since her hair was a naturally dark strawberry blonde that could have been normal. What wasn't normal was the fact that she was stuffed – or rather, folded – into a double bass case, her face turned towards the watchers, her lips slightly parted as if about to offer some kind of rebuke.

"Are you going to try and get her out of there?" Kate asked. "Only she looks pretty firmly wedged."

Lanie stood up. "No. The whole lot should come back to the lab."

"Any sign of her clothing? A handbag? Any form of identification?"

Ryan shook his head. "Nope."

"Extend your perimeter. And see if anyone in the offices saw anything."

"Most of them are empty," Esposito pointed out. "This area was due for redevelopment before the recession hit."

"Do what you can."

He nodded and moved off, Ryan following at his heels.

Rick reached out to touch the girl's face, but thought better of it. "She's very young," he murmured.

Lanie sighed. "Death doesn't seem to have any age barriers."

"No." He looked at the dead eyes, glassy and cold. "You're right about that."


	3. Chapter 3

As Kate drove them towards the precinct, Rick was unnaturally quiet. At least for him, Kate considered. Not that she minded him sitting staring out of the window. It made a nice change. It just … "Okay, what is it?" she asked finally, unable to take the silence any longer.

"Hmmn?"

"You look like you had an idea. Or were constipated, I'm not sure which."

He cracked a faint smile. "Thank you for that incredible show of concern for my welfare, but no, my digestion is fine, thanks. In fact I already had a –"

She held up a hand. "No. Thanks. That's plenty of information."

"You asked."

"And I wish I hadn't."

Rick leaned his head on the side window, seeing the steam from his breath misting the glass. "I was just thinking how young she looked."

"The victim?"

"Mmn. Probably not much older than Alexis."

"Probably not." He didn't seem inclined to go on. Hating herself for it, and promising it was just a one-off mental aberration, she encouraged, "So?"

"Hmmn? Oh, nothing. Just …" He took a deep breath and sat up straighter. "I suppose mostly I've seen the dead bodies we've investigated as … things. Not real people. Not really."

"They lived. Loved. _Were_ loved. Had fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters," Kate pointed out. "And that's why we have to find out who killed them. To give their families some form of closure."

"Like you didn't get?"

"Skating on dangerous ground, Castle," she warned.

"Thin ice."

"What?"

"Skating on thin ice."

"Do you have to do that?"

"What?"

"Correct me."

"No. But it's fun. I love it when you get mad at me." This time the smile was more playful. "That little vein in your temple pops out and pulses away …"

"And how's that writer's block?"

He managed to look shocked. "Who said I had writer's block?"

"Your mother."

"Since when do you go talking to my nearest and dearest?"

She smiled enigmatically at him, childishly glad to have got her own back. "Research."

He mimed being stabbed to the quick. "That hurts. Not entirely unexpected, at least on her part, but it still hurts."

"So you haven't cleared it yet."

"As it happens, I have." He gave her that look, the one that she'd labelled _Smug No. 3_. "I know exactly what happens next."

"Really. And what's that?"

He wagged a finger at her, and she had to resist the urge to break it.

"That's for me to know and you to have to torture me to find out."

"Don't tempt me."

"I find warm chocolate sauce and a feather works pretty well." He raised one eyebrow and he wiggled it a bit. "How are you at … daubing?"

The look on his face made her want to laugh, but she resisted that as well. "Please, I've had enough with juvenile delinquents making passes at me today."

"Juvenile? I'll have you know I'm in the prime of life."

This time she gave a grunt of laughter. "Right."

"No, honestly. I am what they call a catch."

"Then I think I'll throw you back."

He shook his head. "You can really wound a person, you know that, don't you?"

"And somehow, it doesn't worry me."

"Anyway, who's been making passes at my favourite police officer?" he asked, leaning back in his seat.

A green Buick cut them up and Kate leaned on the horn. "Idiot!" she yelled.

"Well, I gathered that, but I thought you could be more specific."

"What?" She tossed him a glare but he just smiled it back. She gave in. "Just my neighbour."

"You want I should have a word with him? I could make out I was your boyfriend. You know. Spend the night. Just for verisimilitude." He rolled the last word around his mouth as if it were an expensive wine.

"I'm a cop," Kate pointed out for perhaps the millionth time. "I have a gun. I think I can take care of him."

"Then I'll help you bury the body."

"Only if I can make it a two-for-one deal."

"You really have it in for me today, don't you?"

"You bring out the worst in me."

"Odd, someone else said that today."

"Probably about you." Kate drew up at the precinct. "I have work to do."

"Then I'll watch."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"You're my …" He stopped. He was going to say 'muse', but his nose hadn't quite recovered from the last time she tweaked it. "My inspiration," he said instead. "And you make it look so easy."

"You know, I'd much rather –" She was interrupted by her cell. Struggling to get it out from her coat pocket, she glared at Rick when he chuckled, finally tugging it free. "Beckett," she said into it, listening carefully. "Good work. Give me the address." Pulling off her right glove with her teeth, she took the pen and pad Rick held out to her, writing quickly. "When was it reported stolen?" Again, a note. "No, you and Ryan keep looking. Let me know if you find anything else." She turned off the phone.

"Well?" Rick demanded. "What gives?"

"Do you have to be anywhere straight away?" she asked in turn.

He glanced at his watch. It was barely four. "Not yet."

"You know, I'd hate to keep you from your hot date. Perhaps –"

"It's not a hot date. It's only Maggie. And what did Esposito find?"

She wanted to make him wait, beg for it, but the mental image of him down on his knees in front of her was enough. "The name of the owner of the bass case. One …" She tried to make sense of her writing. "Merrick Canfield. The third."

"You mean there's been two others?"

"Apparently. He's one of the cellists with the New York Philharmonic."

"Wait a minute. Canfield. There's something …" He searched his mental records, all the little bits of trivia as a writer he kept locked up in his brain, ready to be useful when needed. "That's it. Merrick Canfield. He's leader of the Canfield Quartet. They play jazz down in the Village."

"Well, he reported his double bass stolen from his dressing room a week ago. With case."

His mind instantly bringing up the image of the young girl stuffed inside, basically folded up, he nodded, his face serious again. "I think I've got time."

"Fine." She started the engine again, pulling her glove back on and handing him back his pad and pen. "And who's Maggie?"

---

"Kate Beckett." Alexis studied her hair in the mirror, pushing one long red strand back into its clip. "She's a police detective. And the inspiration for his new heroine."

Maggie stepped out of the guest bathroom, drying herself with a large white towel. "Is she nice?"

"Mmn. She's okay. Dad thinks she is."

There was something in Alex's tone that made the older woman narrow her eyes. "Just nice?"

"I think Dad would like there to be more. And the amount of UST that's around when they get together … it's embarrassing."

"So what you mean is your father _likes_ her." She ran her hand through her almost-black hair, absently checking to see it if was dry enough to style.

"Pretty much."

"And do you?" Maggie sat down on the bed, tightening the towel around her body.

"Not like that."

"You know what I mean. Do you like her?"

"Well, we haven't exactly spent a lot of time in each other's company, but … she's okay."

"Just okay, or …"

"Maggie, I don't think Dad's looking for another wife, if that's what you're worried about, and I'm sure Kate isn't looking for a husband. They're just … friends." She scrunched her nose up at the last word.

"Hmmn."

Alexis might only have been fifteen, but she had what they called an old soul, so she knew exactly what that sound meant. "You should have said yes."

"You know, you should totally come," Maggie said, firmly changing the subject. "You and Martha. To the awards ceremony with me. There's going to be food, booze, men … okay, admittedly there aren't exactly going to be many your age, but since I'm not sure what your age actually is …"

"Dad wasn't even going to go this year," Alexis admitted. "I mean, he won last year for best novel in a series, but … I think people were annoyed he killed off Derrick Storm."

"I'm not surprised. That's why I don't have a recurring character – easier to mix and match."

Alexis laughed. "I know what you mean. And now he's just doing the same thing, just changing the sex and profession."

"That sounds … painful."

"I think it probably is."

Maggie looked hopeful. "So, will you? If you don't then it'll be just Rick and me at a huge table, and we'll look lost and lonely, and have to drink far to much just to make up for –"

Alexis gave in. "Yes, fine. My grandmother will go wherever the booze is free, and although I've got homework to do tomorrow, I'd like to go."

"Homework?" Maggie shook her head. "Alex, it's Sunday tomorrow. You should be out enjoying your free weekend, not inside working."

"That's what Dad says. But I enjoy studying."

"I didn't." She lay back, staring into the ceiling. "I just about managed to cram most of my work in on the way to school, writing furiously in the back of my dad's car, while he sat there growling and bemoaning the sorry state of education."

"You went to college," Alexis pointed out, turning to gaze at her.

"It was expected."

"You met Dad there."

"And your mother. Don't forget that."

"Oh, I don't." Alexis stood up and crossed to the bed, sitting down next to her friend. "Why didn't you say yes?"

Maggie narrowed her eyes and glared at the girl. "That's between me, your father and a very expensive bottle of single malt whisky."

"One day you'll tell me."

"Not even then." Maggie sat up and sighed. "Well, the car will be here at six-forty five so we can be fashionably late but not enough to have to interrupt the first award. So that gives us a shade under three hours to make ourselves stunningly beautiful so that everyone stops to stare at us."

"Only three hours?" Alexis joked.

"I know, I know. But I think we can do it."

---

Kate parked the car a little way along from the lobby to the very new and very expensive block of apartments that looked like little more than a tower of glass cards. For a moment Rick had a touch of nausea looking up, imagining them all coming crashing down in picturesque but deadly shards, and he shivered slightly.

"Cold?" Kate asked, feeling the chill biting into herself despite her coat.

"Yeah," Rick lied, cursing his sometimes over-active imagination. "Come on. Let's get going."

Kate looked at him strangely, but led the way into the building.

"Can I help you?" a guard behind the desk asked, his skin shining blackly in the soft lights.

Kate showed her badge. "Detective Beckett. I'd like to see Merrick Canfield. Is he in?"

The guard glanced down at something on a screen. "I'll ring up for you."

"Just tell us which apartment –"

"I'm sorry, that isn't possible. The elevators won't be going anywhere unless Mr Canfield gives permission."

Kate glanced at Rick then nodded. "Fine. Whatever."

The guard dialled, waited, then said, "Mr Cranfield, there are two police officers here to see you. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Of course, sir." He put the phone down and flicked a switch. "Please, use elevator number two."

"Thanks." Kate gave a tight smile and moved down the lobby.

"Excuse me," the guard added, somewhat diffidently. "But aren't you Rick Castle?"

Rick turned, a wide smile on his face. "That I am."

The guard almost let go enough to grin. "I'm a big fan. In fact, I'm reading Storm Fall at the moment. Would … would you autograph it for me?" he asked, already reaching under the desk.

"No problem." He pulled the black Sharpie he always had ready in his pocket, and signed the title page with a flourish. "There you go."

"Thank you. So much." The guard stared at the signature, and the message Rick had written above it. _Thanks for all your help._

Rick recapped the pen and ambled down the hall to join Kate at the open elevator doors. At her look he opened his eyes wide and asked, "What?"


	4. Chapter 4

The door to the penthouse suite was already open as they exited the elevator, and framed in it was a man in his early thirties, thick black hair swept away from his face. He was wearing a monogrammed blue silk shirt, the letters M and C intertwined on a curlicue background stitched into the breast pocket, and stonewashed denim jeans. On his feet were loafers, the pennies shining. Expensive, Kate thought. Trying too hard, Rick considered.

"I gather you're the police?" the man asked. "I'm Merrick Canfield." He held out a hand.

Kate took it, shook briefly, noting slight calluses on Canfield's fingertips. "I'm Detective Beckett. We'd like to talk to you about the report you made regarding your double bass."

His eyes widened. "You mean you found it?"

"We just have a few more questions. Can we come inside?"

"Oh, of course. Where are my manners? Please." He stepped back so they could enter, and he smiled warmly at Kate as she passed. He more or less ignored Rick, which gave Kate a momentary frisson of pleasure, which died quickly as they walked into what felt like a goldfish bowl.

The apartment was big, open plan for the most part, with a fireplace burning merrily in the centre of the room, using pine scented logs from the fragrance being produced. Various musical instruments, including a flute and three clarinets, were on stands poised on top of bookcases, while a large plasma TV hung on the wall in front of three black leather sofas, placed just … so. Everything was tidy, everything was in its place, with not a scrap of paper or even an open book sullying a bare surface.

But it wasn't the extreme tidiness that took the breath away.

In front of them, an expanse of glass ran down two of the walls, floor to ceiling. Except it had to be tilted so as not to reflect the contents of the room, remaining invisible, because outside was New York, lighting up now the sun had finally dropped below the horizon, testimony to the fact that perhaps this really was the city that never sleeps.

It would never catch the full daylight, being angled more towards the north, and Rick decided it was by the choice of the owner. It reeked of control freak, and knowing the sun wasn't going to damage his expensive furnishings, let alone the original 1954 Fender Stratocaster hung on one of the only walls, was probably top of Canfield's apartment-hunting requirements.

"It is rather spectacular, isn't it?" Canfield said, smiling as he recognised the slightly stunned looks on their faces.

"It certainly is," Kate agreed, feeling she could just walk out into the darkness and fly over Manhattan. She caught the smug expression on Rick's face and knew he knew what she was thinking. She made an effort to pull herself together. "Mr Canfield, can you go over the details of the theft again?"

"Of course. But first, would you like a drink? Or a coffee?" Canfield asked.

Kate shook her head, but Rick said, "Coffee sounds good. Lots of cream."

"I'll just be a moment." Canfield nodded and headed for the kitchen area visible to their left.

"Coffee?" Kate hissed.

"I just want to see what happens if I spill anything. Place looks like it came out of Vanity Fair, the anal-retentive edition," Rick muttered from the corner of his mouth.

"You read Vanity Fair?"

"Only for the naked women."

"Anyway, I like it."

"OCD like you? I think you'd love it."

She glared at him, one of those that threatened intense bodily harm if he didn't shut up, but he just smiled infuriatingly.

Canfield came back with a tray containing a cup and saucer, napkin on the side, and a small jug. He held a glass cafetiere in his other hand. "Are you sure I can't tempt you?" he asked Kate, indicating the coffee.

"No. Thanks."

"Your loss. This is a Columbian, made to my own recipe. Of course it's far better drunk black, but …" He put the tray down on the table and poured very carefully.

"Thanks," Rick said, sitting down and adding so much cream the liquid was almost white.

Canfield made a moue of distaste, but covered it well, looking up at Kate instead. He must have seen something on her face, because he asked, "I'm sorry, is there something wrong?"

In fact she'd been thinking what a waste of good coffee, but instead she covered with, "You didn't ask to see my badge."

Canfield smiled again. "No, well, Harrison downstairs would have looked."

"Still, it's a good idea to make sure."

"Then let me see it." Kate handed the badge across, and he made a show of studying it, comparing the person in front of him with the representation on the card. "You're much prettier in real life," he commented.

Rick bridled a little, but for once restrained himself, just making sure he spilled some of the over-full cup onto the tray for later.

"Now," Canfield went on, ignoring the other man again. "I interrupted you before. How can I help?"

"Can you go over the details of the last time you saw your double bass?"

"Well, technically it's a Busetto contrabass, but you don't need to … you know, this was all in the report your officer took. When I first reported the theft."

"It's procedure. Particularly when it's an expensive item. We like to check to make sure you haven't forgotten anything. No matter how trivial." She smiled, the kind that didn't really reach her eyes.

"Of course. Well." He looked thoughtful. "I was at the Lincoln Centre, and we'd just finished final rehearsal. We were playing Beethoven's Third … do you know it? The Eroica?" Kate nodded encouragingly. "Of course you do. Anyway, I went for something to eat, came back ready for the actual performance, and … it was gone." He shook his head in irritation. "I had to send someone for my alternate instrument, which of course isn't anywhere near the same standard, but …"

"Did the concert go well?"

"Fine."

"And you didn't you see anyone suspicious loitering around?"

"Suspicious? Not particularly. I mean, the place is always bustling with electricians, lighting crew … but you don't look at people like that, do you? Well, perhaps you do. Being a detective." He leaned forward again. "Do you actually trust anyone?"

"Not many," Rick put in.

"No, I can imagine." Canfield sighed. "I've reported it to the insurance company, of course, but I doubt it will turn up. Not now. Probably in some pawn shop in Queen's, for all I know."

"More than likely," Kate agreed.

"Is it worth a lot?" Rick asked, sipping at the cup and ignoring the fact that it was virtually cold and tasted like coffee-flavoured cream.

Canfield favoured him with a glance. "Only if you consider a minimum of $85,000 a lot."

"I think most people would."

"Of course it's insured, but that isn't the point."

Kate nodded. "I understand."

Canfield looked at them, his head on one side. "Look, if there's something else going on here ..."

"No. As I said, it's just a follow-up."

"Only you seem too senior to be doing such a menial task." He smiled at her, straightening the cuffs of his shirt.

Rick was astounded. The man was hitting on her.

Kate either didn't notice or chose not to. "There is a possibility we've new information regarding the theft, but at the moment I'm not at liberty to say."

Canfield moved closer. "I hope you do find it. It's my primary instrument because of the richness of the sound. There's a depth, an opulence I've rarely found in any other bass, and that magnificence makes even the most mediocre piece sound …" He stopped and grinned, probably the first honest facial expression since they'd arrived. "Sorry. I can be a little boring when I get going."

"No problem."

"Do you have any enemies, Mr Canfield?" Rick asked, standing up and earning a warning look from Kate but feeling unrepentant.

"Enemies?" Canfield raised his eyebrows. "Why should I have enemies?"

"Someone you stepped on, maybe on your way to the top. Someone who might think it fun to steal your bass."

"I'm not at the top. If I were, I'd be the guest soloist."

"Then all this …" Kate indicated the apartment.

"Inherited," Canfield explained. "My father was rich, he's dead, so now I have the money. It gives me the leeway to do what I want, when I want. And I'm afraid that's the reason I have to ask you to leave now, no matter how much I've enjoyed your company. I have to get changed. I'm playing at The Blue Cat tonight."

"Blue Cat?"

"It's a jazz club in Greenwich," Rick said quickly.

Canfield was surprised. "You've been there?"

"Once or twice."

"Research, I should imagine." He laughed. "Mr Castle, I know who you are. I doubt there's many in any of the entertainment industries who don't. You're not exactly reclusive."

"Not a word you could ever use about him," Kate agreed. "Well, thanks for your time."

"Not at all." Canfield moved even closer. "How can I contact you? In case I think of anything else?"

Kate handed over one of her cards, the ones with only her work number on, and took a step back towards the door. "They can get a message to me."

"Good."

Rick slapped his hands together and rubbed the palms. "Well, time to go."

"If we hear anything, we'll be in touch," Kate promised.

"Any time."

They walked out into the hall, Canfield stopping in the doorway, waiting until they were in the elevator before waving slightly and going back into his apartment.

"Do you think he's involved?" Rick asked, barely waiting for the doors to close before speaking.

"I doubt it."

"Only you didn't tell him about the body."

"No." Kate stared at the lights moving irritatingly slowly down the floor numbers.

"So you were thinking you might interview him again."

"Maybe."

"Kate, talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking."

"So I can find it all down on paper in a few months?" She shook her head. "No."

"It's why I'm here."

"No. Why you're here is because you know the Mayor, and you like to make my life difficult."

"Well, I try."

"Very trying."

"Hey, did you see his shoes?" Rick asked, smirking just a little because he'd got to her again. "Penny loafers."

"My father used to wear them," Kate admitted. "What's wrong with that?"

"With real pennies?"

"Well –"

"No-one's ever made loafers with real pennies in them. That was a fad with the prep schools in the 1950's. They must be custom."

"Want me to go back and ask him where he got them? I'm sure they do them in your size."

"I wouldn't be seen dead in them."

"Pity."

The doors opened and they strode through the lobby towards the waiting cold, Rick smiling at the guard. Harrison lifted his newly-signed copy of Storm Fall and grinned.

"I still think he's involved," Rick said as the freezing air hit them, and he pulled his coat collar higher around his neck. "Canfield. He knows more than he's telling."

She turned on him. "Do you really think he'd use his custom-made case to dump a body in? After the way he talked about his double bass like that? I'm surprised he doesn't sleep with it."

"Double bluff."

"Excuse me?"

"Make you believe that he's innocent by giving up something valuable and personally important, when he's actually a manipulative son of a bitch."

She stepped forward, right into his comfort zone. "Doesn't it occur to you that perhaps the simplest explanation is the right one? That he's just another victim here?"

He gazed down into her grey eyes, her subtle perfume tickling his nose. "You listen to those formidable gut feelings of yours and tell me he isn't in this up to his monogram." He raised an eyebrow. "Or is it old money talking to old money? Is that it? Because he's wealthy, he can't possibly –"

She jabbed him sharply in the ribs, eliciting a yelp of pain. "Don't even think of accusing me of that."

Rick rubbed at the sore spot. "That hurt."

"Good." She exhaled heavily. "Maybe the girl met someone she shouldn't, it got rough and he killed her. He went to dump the body, found the case and decided to put her inside, just to confuse things."

"Why would the thief dump the case?"

"Too recognisable."

"And the bass isn't?"

"I'll have Esposito and Ryan do a sweep of the local pawnshops. The perp probably ditched the case, tried to sell the bass but no-one'd touch it, and dumped it in the East River. It's probably half way to the Atlantic by now."

"Then why steal it at all? There must have been something easier to fence lying around."

"Crime of opportunity. Probably one of the people working there."

"It's too neat."

"Sometimes neat is good. It makes life easier." She suddenly became aware of the warmth of his body reaching out to her, his personal scent in her nostrils, and turned away, taking the last few strides to the car. "It can't always be a complicated conspiracy."

"And sometimes it is." He kept rubbing his ribs. "You know, you could offer to kiss this better."

"In your dreams."

"Which can be very detailed. Did I tell you the one about the whipped cream and –"

"Castle."

"Fine." He followed her. "I still think Canfield's in on it."

"You really didn't like him, did you? Just because he ignored you." She unlocked the door and got behind the wheel.

"Plenty of people ignore me!" He climbed in next to her.

"I tried and you still didn't go away."

"Oh, come on, Kate. You know you love me really."

"Maybe you should see a doctor. These hallucinations of yours are getting worse." She started the engine, and welcome heat slid into the interior.

"I'll grow on you."

"I can get a cream for that."

He pouted in mock indignation, then glanced at the dashboard clock. "Is that right?" he demanded, checking his own watch.

"More or less."

"Damn it." He hit the glove box with the flat of his hand before turning to her. "Kate, I need a favour."

---

Maggie stood in the lobby to Rick's apartment building, her shawl tugged tightly around her shoulders. Every so often she'd glance at the big clock above the concierge's desk, then sigh heavily.

The door opened and she looked up expectantly, but it was only the driver of the limousine. "We have to go now, miss," he said. "Otherwise we'll never get across town, not with this traffic."

"I know." She managed a little smile. "But a couple of minutes. Two minutes won't make any difference, will it?"

"No. No, I suppose not." He went back out to the car, passing Martha on the way in.

"Maggie, darling, he's not coming," the older woman said, taking note of the slumped shoulders, the dejected expression.

"He promised."

"I know. And I'm sure he meant to be here. But there are things … people …" She patted Maggie on the arm. "You'll just have to put up with Alexis and me."

Maggie sighed again, and nodded. "You're right. Let's go." She followed Martha outside. The cold air bit into her exposed skin and she tried to pull her shawl even tighter. "I should have stayed in Los Angeles," she muttered. "At least there I'd be warm."

Martha climbed into the limo, and Maggie was about to follow when a man's voice shouted.

"Maggie!"

She looked up and saw Rick getting out of a car across the street. Slamming the door he waved a _thank you_ to the driver then jogged across towards her, dodging traffic that hooted at him.

She felt a surge of anger. "Rick …"

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said, grinning widely. "But you'll never guess –"

"We have to go. Get in."

He glanced up towards his apartment. "I have to change."

"There's no time. Martha has your suit inside. You'll just have to change in the back."

Surprise washed through him. "Martha? You mean my mother?"

"I invited them both."

"Why? I mean, I know you were –"

"Rick, I'm freezing my ass off here. Will you get in the damn car?"

He held up a hand in surrender, and clambered inside. Maggie rolled her eyes to the heavens and followed.

---

Kate watched as Castle jaywalked across the road, making the other cars toot at him as they sped by. She should really have arrested him, taken him down to the precinct, given him a strip search, thrown him into the tank with all the big boys and seen if he came out in one piece … but he might have enjoyed that. She certainly would. Not the strip search, of course. But seeing him deal with real criminals, not just the ones on paper.

Still, at least she finally got a glimpse of this Maggie. All the way back to his building he'd been talking about her, animated even for Rick, telling her about how they'd been friends for a long time, about some of the antics they'd got up to in college, and after. AJ Maguire, as he was proud to tell her. The author.

She knew the name, of course. The entire Castle oeuvre sat on her bookshelves, where they rubbed, cheek by jowl, with the Maguire novels. There were differences, though. The Derrick Storm stories – and those that preceded – were procedural, every detail lovingly researched, while Maggie's books were somewhat more relationship driven, often with a love story at the centre. True crime-officionados were somewhat scathing of her style, but in a way Kate often found them more satisfying. Sometimes even a hard-boiled detective needed to read something more … escapist. And it wasn't as if they were lacking in realism either, just different.

The limo had pulled away, melting into the traffic, and she prepared to do the same, but her cell rang.

"Beckett."

Ryan's voice. "CSU got a whole load of fingerprints from the case, but they mostly look to be one guy, probably the owner."

"Canfield."

"That's him."

"What about the victim? Any ID on her yet?"

"The doc's taken her prints, but no dice as yet. The whole unit's pretty backed up." There was a pause. "You think Rick might be able to pull his magic act again? Get us moved up?"

For one long moment Kate actually considered it. Breaking police protocol. Getting things done unofficially. Then she shook her head. He must be getting under her skin, influencing her. "No," she said firmly. "Remind them it's a murder investigation, but no trying to circumvent things."

"Well, you're the boss. Only they're saying it's likely to be late tomorrow, and that's if they get a match."

Kate closed her eyes. There was a golden window in a murder investigation, a certain number of hours before the trail got more difficult to follow and the file got put on the metaphorical back burner. Oh, it would still be on her desk, and she'd work on it, but each and every detective knew that if they didn't solve the case within that time, it was going to take weeks of back and soul breaking work to even get close.

And the longer it took, the less likelihood of a successful conviction. Not that it didn't happen, of course, but cold cases often tended to stay just that – cold.

"Then we wait, like everyone else," she said. "In the meantime, get a list of the pawnshops in the area, see if anyone tried to sell that double bass."

"They'll be closed by now."

"Do what you can."

"You got it, boss."

"What about the autopsy? Did we get anything there?"

"Dr Parish said she'd have something first thing."

Time. It always took so much time. And a murderer was likely sitting somewhere right now, smug in the thought that he'd gotten away with it. "Okay. I'll be back at the precinct shortly."

"Why don't you go home?" Ryan sounded sincere. "There's not much we can do tonight. Maybe it'd be better to start fresh in the morning."

She found herself nodding. "Okay. Just run any last checks, then … But I'll be expecting everyone bright and early."

"When aren't we?" He chuckled, and the line went dead.

Leaning back on the headrest, she stared out at the people hurrying along, trying to get home to their loved ones, back to the warmth and safety of their homes. Some might not make it, and they'd turn up the next morning, victims of casual crime, or maybe not turn up at all, and families would be left wondering what happened to them.

Maybe she was just trying to keep a candle alight in a howling gale, but if she gave just one person closure, brought one killer to justice, it helped make her life worthwhile.

Gunning the engine, she pulled smoothly into traffic and headed home.


	5. Chapter 5

Inside the limousine Rick was fighting to pull off his shirt without undoing all the buttons or punching the ceiling, made worse because his t-shirt was caught up in it. Eventually he managed to tug it over his head, dropping it onto the floor. Then he realised Maggie was staring at him, a speculative look on her face.

"Maggie!" He half turned away, trying to hide his chest from her. "I'm getting changed here!"

"I've seen you naked before. It's not like you've grown a third nipple or anything." Her eyes widened into a question.

"No, I haven't," he insisted. "But it was a long time ago. Besides, it was spring, much less detrimental to a man's character. And it was your idea to steal that horse."

"Borrow."

"Whatever. Just … turn around."

She sighed heavily. "Fine. And it wasn't a long time ago. Not that you've changed much, either." She stared out at the other cars, but not really seeing them.

Alexis handed him a clean shirt and a black silk tie, and he busied himself for a moment, before looking at his mother. "Don't tell me. Free booze?"

Martha smoothed an already immaculate eyebrow. "Why not? And I'm sure there's going to be some people I haven't already met."

"You know my reputation started going downhill as soon as you moved in, don't you?"

"No, dear." She patted him on the knee. "That happened much longer ago."

His eyes narrowed. "There's a nice retirement home out near –"

She laughed, a sound somewhere between the shattering of fine crystal and a bootleg porno video. "You'd miss me."

"I'd visit. Annually." He undid his jeans and managed to push them down his legs, kicking them off. "What about you?" he asked his daughter as she gave him another pair of pants. "What's your excuse?"

"Maggie asked me."

"I wanted some moral support," the woman in question said, glancing back and seeing Rick struggling to pull black trousers up his finely-toned thighs, lifting his hips from the seat to get them higher. No. He hadn't changed that much at all. And at least he was wearing underwear this time.

Zipping and buttoning, he didn't see her look away again. "Well, I'm here now."

"Yes. And thanks."

"You're welcome." The jacket was next, then he ran his fingers through his hair, judging it was fine when Alexis nodded slightly. "Okay," he said. "Done."

Maggie turned back, and her jaw dropped. "How can you do that?" she asked, shaking her head. "It took me three hours to even begin to look put together, and you change in the back of a limo and end up looking like … that?"

"What can I say?" He smirked a little. "I have a gift."

"Right." She stared out into the night once more.

The smile died on his lips, and his brows drew together. "Maggie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I know I was late, but it couldn't be helped."

"That's okay. You're here now."

He waited a moment to see if she continued, but when she didn't he said, "You look good, by the way."

She did, too. She was wearing a black sleeveless dress that fell to her knees, the bottom of the frock covered in tiny crystals that moved as she did. A double line of the same crystals was sewn from her shoulder, down across her left breast to the hem. Her shawl was fine black linen, and around her neck was a silver and amber pendant he recognised as having been a birthday present he'd given her back in college. She'd always said it was her favourite.

"Thanks."

He could see she was upset, mainly from long experience of being married twice, and the set of her shoulders.

"What about us?" Martha asked, one eyebrow raised, glancing down at her bronze two-piece and fur wrap then across at Alexis in her '_I'm not a grown-up no matter what you think_' dark blue sheath dress.

"You know you always wonderful. Both of you." Rick turned back to the woman sitting next to him. "Maggie, whatever it is -"

She didn't let him finish. "We're here."

The driver pulled into the kerb, then was out in a moment, holding the door open for them to alight. Cameras flashed as Maggie got out, followed by Martha and Alexis, Rick bringing up the rear.

"Rick! Rick Castle! Over here!"

They all looked, and saw a small gaggle of young girls, probably not even out of their teens, and all of them waving madly and clutching copies of Storm Fall.

"It looks like your fan contingent made it this year," Maggie said, smiling all the time even if there was little warmth in it.

"Can I help it if I'm irresistible?" Rick asked, waving back. "And they're way too young, even for me."

"So you've grown out of being a pervert?"

Normally this sort of conversation between them would be light-hearted, backed up by true affection on both sides. But this time it was almost painful, as if she meant every word.

"Maggie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." She swept inside, under the huge sign that announced 'The Patterson Awards' with a smaller one across the corner, 'HERE TONITE', muttering, "I hate people who can't spell."

"Have I done something to upset her?" Rick asked his mother as they followed across the black and white marble floor towards the main ballroom. "I mean, apart from almost not making it."

"Ah, no, dear. But perhaps we did."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I told her about Kate Beckett," Alexis admitted, looking unhappy.

"And don't glare at us like that," Martha added. "We merely told her you were interested in the woman you'd based your new heroine on."

He shook his head. "It's not like that, Mother."

"Isn't it? Besides, why shouldn't Maggie know? You're not interested in her in that way. Are you?"

His mouth tightened. "That isn't the point."

"I'd have thought it was exactly the point." She tapped him on the shoulder then wafted onwards, momentarily distracted by a rather dapper silver-haired man standing by an aspidistra before realising he was an ex and letting her gaze slide.

Uniformed flunkeys opened up the double doors and ushered them inside, where the noise of too many people talking about themselves was already almost unbearable. More than three dozen tables were dressed in snowy linen, expensive place settings in front of each of ten chairs, and a veritable cornucopia of flowers in a display in the centre of each, complimenting perfectly the stands of greenery at intervals around the walls. A small orchestra played a medley of popular songs in the background, and waiters passed through the crowd, silver salvers on upheld hands.

And then there was Gina, standing by the Black Pawn table, her gold satin, strapless dress clinging to every curve and complimenting her hair perfectly.

They had to go past to get to their own table at the front, and of course she managed to turn at that precise moment.

"Rick." She didn't look at all happy to see him. "I thought you weren't coming this year."

"I was … ah … persuaded," he explained.

"Well, sit down. They're about to start."

"Sorry, Gina, but I'm with someone else." He nodded towards Maggie.

"I see. Trying to poach you, is she?"

"No, of course not."

Gina wasn't listening to him, but had already turned to the other woman. "Maggie."

"Gina. Nice to see you again." If she'd tried she couldn't have put less sincerity into the words. "And so soon."

"You too." The blonde looked her up and down. "Put on a little weight, haven't you?"

"What, in a few hours?"

"Then it must be the dress."

It took all of Maggie's willpower not to haul off and slug the other woman in the face. "Well, I suppose since I don't spend obscene amounts of money on such useless frivolities as designer clothes and silicone implants, perhaps you're right." Her gaze slid down to Gina's chest then back up, and she strode away.

"Enough," Rick hissed at his ex-wife.

"Why? She started it."

"No, she didn't."

"I don't mean now. I mean back when we first met. And I still haven't forgiven you for telling me you named Alexis after her." She glanced past him to the young girl standing a few paces back.

"I didn't do it intentionally!"

"No, of course not."

"Gina, she's been Maggie to me for as long as I can remember. I'd honestly forgotten her name was Alexis."

She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Rick, don't be an idiot."

He sighed. This was an argument they'd had a lot in the preceding years, and probably would again. "Fine. I'm an idiot. But then, we both knew that. I married you, didn't I?" He pushed past her and hurried to catch up with Maggie.

Martha looked Gina up and down, then, in a tone meant to be conspiratorial but that carried all too well, asked, "Didn't you wear that at the Tony's last year? And someone dropped mayonnaise down it? I have to say, it's cleaned up nicely."

"No, I did not!"

"Really? Oh well, my mistake." She smiled briefly and walked past, taking Alexis with her.

Gina stared after them both, fury making her cheeks pink despite her make-up. "Waiter!" she called imperiously. "Champagne!"

Maggie had only stopped at the McKinnon Publishing House table long enough to toss her shawl onto a chair before heading for one of the long bars at the side. She was already ordering when Rick got to her.

"Scotch. Double. No, make it a triple. No ice."

"Single malt?" the barman enquired.

"No. Too good for what I'm going to do with it."

"Yes, madam." He turned and picked up a glass, positioning it under one of the optics.

"What are you doing?" Rick asked, leaning on the bar and gazing at her.

"What does it look like?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

The barman put the glass down in front of her, the amber liquid glowing in the light.

"Having a drink," Maggie said, picking it up. "Join me?"

"Not right now." He waved the barman away. "Maggie, I'm sorry."

"What, for Gina? Don't worry about apologising for her. You married her."

"And you told me it was a mistake, I know."

"I don't think I've once said I told you so." She sipped the whisky and grimaced slightly as the alcohol burned down her throat.

"No, you haven't. And I'm grateful. But it isn't that."

"Then what?"

"Kate. That I didn't tell you about her."

Maggie paused, the glass at her lips. "About the inspiration for your new heroine?" She shrugged. "Why should you?"

"Because we tell each other everything."

She tossed back a mouthful, this time managing to keep her face from showing her emotion. "No, Rick. We don't. Not everything. I'm sure there's plenty I haven't told you."

"Like what?"

"Well, I can't think of anything this second. But give me a minute or two."

"Maggie -"

"Rick, it's okay. I don't have any say in your love life."

"Love … Maggie, there's nothing like that."

"But you'd like there to be." She dragged a smile up from somewhere. "So it's fine."

"Then how come I get the feeling that you're lying to me?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Because I know you. We broke into our first house together, remember? Got drunk and threw up in the Dean's personal flower bed."

"Ah, good times." She swallowed back the remaining whisky. "Let's relive them." She caught the barman's attention and lifted the glass. "Another, please."

"Yes, madam."

"God, that makes me feel old," she murmured under her breath. "When did I get to be a madam?"

"Okay, enough." Rick sounded on the verge of exasperation. "I have a new muse. She's a control freak and she hates me. So far we've solved some pretty interesting murders, and I've managed to write more chapters faster than I have done in years. In fact, I'm this close to finishing the first novel in the Nikki Heat series." He held his thumb and forefinger a tiny distance apart. "What you saw on those boards was the second book. Now, I've never done that before. Had the next book plot ready while still finishing the last. You know that. You know _me_. And I know you." He put his hand on hers. "Yes, I like her. She irritates me, and all I want to do is make her smile. She threatens to kill me, and I need to hear her laugh. But what we have, you and me … she's not going to replace that. You're my best and oldest friend, Mags." He used his old pet name for her, just to prove he wasn't lying. "Whatever happens with Kate, that won't change."

"What if it isn't enough?"

He stared at her, surprised. "What?"

Before Maggie could answer, there was a small fanfare from the orchestra, and someone coughed into the microphone on the small stage. Nearly everyone turned around to look, recognising one of the new stars from a surprisingly successful comedy series.

He smiled, showing the teeth that had helped make him an overnight sensation after years in the business. "Ladies and gentlemen, my name's Larry Taggart, and I'd just like to say that I'm very pleased to be here. I've always been a fan of crime novels, although I know I'd never be able to do it myself. Or write a book, come to that." He waited for the laughter that rippled politely from one side of the room to the other. "Now, if you'd care to take your seats, dinner is about to be served. Following the main course, while you partake of the delicious dessert, the Awards proper will begin." He spread his hands like a conjurer about to perform a mind-bending trick. "Enjoy."

Maggie stared down at the second glass of whisky, then pushed it away. "You know, I don't feel like getting drunk tonight. And I'm hungry." She walked back towards the table, leaving Rick shaking his head in consternation behind her.

-

She opened her eyes, and stared into nothing for a long while. Then it occurred to her that it was dark, and perhaps that was why she couldn't see anything. There was noise somewhere, voices, music, but it seemed a long way off. She tried calling out, but her mouth was so dry she couldn't make more than a squeak.

But if she could get to them, attract their attention, maybe they could help her.

Rolling onto her hands and knees, she crawled forward, and only the pain registering in her head told her she'd hit a wall. Reaching out, she tried to find a door.

Something jabbed her in the arm, and she cried out, the sound barely reaching her own ears. Cold seemed to flow into her veins, and some part of her brain still working knew this wasn't good. She had to find help.

-

Maggie was making an effort. She was trying her best to show Rick that what she'd said was true, that she wasn't jealous about Kate Beckett. After all, he was right. They were good friends, old friends, and that wasn't going to change.

Occasionally she saw Rick glance at her from the corner of her eye, and once she caught him doing it, giving him a wide smile that almost persuaded him she was fine.

Almost. Instead of believing her, though, he was running her words through his mind, over and again, trying to make sense of them.

"Is he all right?" Martha asked Alexis, keeping her voice low enough so that nobody else could hear. "Those young women at the next table have been trying to get his attention for the last thirty minutes, and he hasn't even smiled at them."

"I know," Alexis said. "I'm beginning to think he might be coming down with something."

Martha nodded, watching the other two.

-

Daylight. No. Not daylight. But something resembling it. High sconces on the wall, flooding her eyes with brightness so she had to squeeze them shut. She hung onto the door, letting it take her out into the corridor with it.

Help. That's what she needed. Already she couldn't feel her feet, and the numbness seemed to be creeping upwards.

Blinking hard, she made herself look first one way, then the other, but there was no-one in sight. No-one to stop this happening to her.

Letting go of the door she fell against the wall, leaning on it as it appeared to tilt wildly, like in a funfair crazy house. More voices, though, and they seemed closer. Pushing herself upright with her hands, she staggered forward, towards the music.

-

"Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause for Dominic Merchant, winner of the Best Newcomer in Crime category." Larry Taggart smiled widely, encouraging everyone to clap louder. The young winner blushed furiously and almost ran from the stage.

"You're up next," Rick whispered to Maggie, who clutched at his hand.

"You know, I almost hope not."

He smiled and let her hold on.

Taggart held up his hands, calling for quiet. "And now, we have the major award of the evening. Best Crime Novel of the Year." The room hushed. "As usual we have five nominees, and believe me when I say, it's been a hard choice this year. Each book is different, unique in its own way, and the standard is exceptionally high."

"Why doesn't he just get on with it?" Maggie ground out.

"However, after a lot of blood had been spilled, at least on the page, the awards committee eventually came to a decision, and I have it here." He brandished the gold envelope. "But first, the nominees are …"

He started reading the list, but Maggie wasn't listening.

"I knew I should have stayed at home." She tried to calm her breathing. "It's just a stupid award. And I could have lived down the photos."

"Not sure I could," Rick murmured, then grinned at her as she smiled slightly. "Okay, maybe I could. I've done a lot more crazy things in my life than that." He squeezed her fingers. "Good luck."

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the stage.

"… and finally, Erin McCarthy for _Fortune's Fool_." He waited for the applause to die down again, then lifted the envelope. "And the winner is …" Sliding a finger inside the sealed flap, he opened it up. Removing the card with a flourish, he read the words, then lifted his head, a wide smile on his face. "AJ Maguire for _A Lying Smile_!"

Martha and Alexis began to clap wildly, and Rick leaned forward, placing a kiss on Maggie's cheek.

"That's you," he said in her ear above the applause. "Better get up there."

She turned to stare at him, her face pale, and he could see her about to shake her head. "Rick, I -"

"Go on." He disentangled his hand from hers and gave her a slight push.

-

People. Lots of people. She couldn't see too well anymore, but the blobs had to be people. Some were on their feet, she was sure. They'd help. Get her to a hospital. Save her. Someone reached for her, but as much as she wanted to stop herself, she ducked under his arm, even as his voice reached her ears as if through a long tunnel.

-

Maggie stepped up to the microphone, the Patterson in her hand. Somewhat unimaginatively, considering it was a prize for fiction, it was in the shape of an open hardback book, one page lifted suggestively, on a stand of another three volumes. Idly she wondered what would happen if she dropped it, but decided not to try. She really didn't want a broken toe right now.

Looking up she could see an ocean of faces, some smiling for her, a few looking somewhat disgruntled – probably fans of the other nominees. But at least the people at her table were grinning widely.

Larry Taggart touched her elbow, motioning her to say something.

"I …" She stopped, cleared her throat. "I … thank you. All of you. This is an honour, and I honestly don't think I'm worthy of it."

"Excuse me, miss? You can't go in there."

A man's voice registered on the edge of her hearing, but she carried on talking, getting into her stride a little. "More than anything I'd like to thank all of those at McKinnon for their faith in me, and for not giving me too many editorial notes."

There was a low hum of laughter, but not loud enough to cover the voice again.

"Miss, this is a private function. You're not allowed … here, stop!"

There was a disturbance, and suddenly a woman staggered out in front of the stage, her arms in front of her as if she couldn't see where she was going. A guard tried to grab her, but she somehow managed to slip from under him, ending up right in front of Maggie. She stared, her mouth working, but no words came out. Then her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed, falling to the floor like a bagful of disconnected bones.

Immediately there was uproar, and a number of people rushed forwards, one of them calling that he was a doctor and to stand back. Rick pushed through the crowd so he could see as the man checked her pulse, both at her wrist and her neck, then listened to her chest. Finally he sat back on his heels. "She's dead," he said into the sudden silence. "You'd better call the police."

Rick already had his cell phone out, speed-dialling the precinct, keeping his voice low as he asked to be put through to homicide. Behind him Martha was on her feet, her arms around Alexis, turning her away.

"This is Castle," he said when someone picked up. "Who's that? Ryan? Better get over to the Waldorf. There's been a death. A young woman. What? No, I don't know her name. But you'd better call Kate, because you're not going to believe who it is." He slid the phone closed then looked up at Maggie, still standing on the stage in shock, the Patterson gripped tightly in her hands.

Pushing his way back through the mass of people again he made it to the steps at the side of the stage, jumping up them and at Maggie's side in a moment. He put his arm around her, and could feel her trembling.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Oh, peachy." Maggie still stared at the body, getting a better view from up here than most everyone else. "This happens every day in my life."

"I'm hoping that was sarcasm."

"What, and it's a regular occurrence in yours?"

"Some days, yes." He saw her glance sharply at him. "And that's the point."

"What? What point?"

"I've seen her before," Rick whispered urgently.

Maggie stared at him. "You mean you know her?"

"No. But I've seen her body before."

"Rick, talk sense."

"Earlier today. Stuffed into a double bass case."

"What?"

"I know it sounds crazy. But I saw _her._"


	6. Chapter 6

Kate Beckett stepped into the ballroom, pulled off her leather gloves, and thought, _God. A couple of hundred people all like Castle. What did I do in a former life to deserve this? Or this one, for that matter._ She looked around for one of her team, and saw Kevin Ryan standing at the other end by a small stage. He glanced up, saw her, waved. She started towards him, her eyes moving all the time, taking everything in.

The majority of attendees were standing at the edges of the room, being talked to by various uniformed police officers taking initial statements as to whether they heard or saw something suspicious that evening. Or more probably, as Kate was rapidly becoming used to, each giving their own account of what might have happened, from aliens to suicide. Those that had already been dealt with were huddled in small groups, trying to see exactly what was going on.

Kate prophesied a rash of novels in the near future with a woman dropping dead in the middle of a book award ceremony.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" A young man in his early twenties approached her. "Are you in charge?"

"Detective Beckett." She motioned towards the badge hooked over her belt.

"Larry Taggart. From _Freshmen._ You know? The comedy? On NBC? All about a group of students at college and the trouble they get into?" He seemed eager for her to acknowledge his fame.

"Sorry," she said, bursting the bubble. "I've never seen it."

"Oh." He looked dejected, then brightened. "Well, you've got something to look forward to, then, don't you? You can always catch up on the web." At her unchanging gaze he expanded, "The world wide web? The internet?"

She suppressed a sigh, and idly wondered if he generally finished his sentences on a question mark. Maybe that's what people liked about him. It made him seem all young and eager. Another one. Just like her neighbour. "Mr Taggart, I'm busy. Is there something specific you want to say to me? About the murder?"

"Well, I just …" He almost rolled his foot like a child. "I've got filming to do tomorrow, and I wondered how much longer we're likely to be? Only I've got to get my sleep, otherwise I'll have bags under my eyes, and the camera picks up that sort of thing, you know? Can't have my fans seeing me looking half dead, it just wouldn't do, would it?"

So he wasn't worried about the all-dead woman, just his career. "It'll take as long as it takes, Mr Taggart." She nodded towards a uniform standing close, and he hurried over. "Have you given your details yet?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure I could –"

She interrupted. "Take Mr Taggart and make sure he sticks around until we've finished with him," she ordered.

"But I –"

Question or not, she wasn't going to let him finish. "Now."

The police officer nodded, taking Larry Taggart by the arm and leading him back to the herd.

Esposito materialised by her elbow, half smiling. "Forty tables, ten seats each … that's four hundred guests whose business is murder. And that's not counting the waiting staff, the kitchens …" He sighed. "Can't we just arrest them all and weed out the innocent later?"

"Don't tempt me," Kate said. "And the only reason I'm not agreeing is because we don't have enough vans to get them all to holding." They'd reached the small group of technicians taking photos and measurements of the crime scene. "Although there's one I wouldn't mind throwing in a cell right now." She was staring at Rick Castle, standing by the bar, the dark-haired woman she'd seen earlier at his side. "What's he doing here anyway?"

Esposito checked his notes. "He's AJ Maguire's escort. That's her, with him."

"I know."

He raised an eyebrow but carried on. "Apparently Ms Maguire was accepting the major award of the evening when the _vic_ staggered in. Collapsed right in front of her."

"So why is it so important I see this particular body? Considering how long it's taken me to get across town in Saturday night traffic."

"Oh, I think you'll want to." He moved a CSU to one side gently. "You'll really want to."

Kate looked down and felt her heart speed up slightly. "What the –"

"See?"

The body was of a young woman, and for a moment Kate was standing in a wind tunnel between high buildings, only this girl wasn't folded into a double bass case, but lying flat on her back, staring into the ceiling. Dark strawberry blonde hair was stuck to her face, probably by sweat, and while her hazel eyes weren't frozen, there was still an accusation hidden in them, that someone should have done something to prevent this. There appeared to be no outward sign of trauma, no blood on the MIT sweatshirt that was too big for her or on her tight jeans, but she was most definitely dead.

"Do you think I don't have enough work to do?" Lanie Parish complained, looking up from the body. "I do actually have a life sometimes. Unlike some people."

"I'm sure you do." Kate took a deep breath and held it before exhaling steadily. "So, what can you tell me?"

"Tell _us_," Rick Castle corrected, appearing at her elbow.

"Go away."

"No."

"You're a material witness."

"So that means I can't observe? Because I pretty much think if I call the Mayor he's going to –"

"Fine." If Kate's voice was a little more strident than normal, it was, she considered, to be expected. "Just stay out of my way." She turned back to Lanie. "I'm presuming the body from earlier didn't get off your table and walk here."

"No, she's still down in the morgue." The ME moved a lock of hair from the dead face. "Although I have to say I did wonder, just for a second."

"You rang up, didn't you?" Rick asked. "I know I would have."

Lanie didn't respond, just shot him a glare that he returned with a grin, knowing he'd caught her.

"So we've got two dead girls," Kate clarified, "identical looking. Twins?"

"Probably." Lanie shrugged. "I have known cases of people not even related looking the same, but not to this extent. Same hair colour, eyes, facial structure, height, about the same age … until someone tells me different then I'd say yes, they're twins."

"Two victims. One murderer?"

"Kate, I haven't even done the autopsy on the first victim yet, let alone this one. I can't say one way or the other yet."

"Best guess."

Rick looked shocked. "You're suggesting someone guesses?"

Kate ignored him. "Murder?"

"You know that's not how I work. Except …" Lanie spoke slowly, considering carefully. "I did notice, when we managed to get the first girl out of the case, there's some bruising around the neck."

"Strangled."

"Possibly." As a Medical Examiner, Lanie Parish was loathe to commit herself too soon. "But no signs on this one." She moved the sweatshirt to one side, showing nothing but unmarked, pale skin. "And most strangulation victims don't walk before dying."

"So a different MO."

"Most murderers stick with one method," Rick put in. "Serial killers might escalate, start with small things, killing animals, pets, then move on to other crimes against people before actually taking that final step, but they usually stick to one style. Gun _or_ knife. Or knife _or_ poison. They don't usually cross the line like this."

Lanie nodded, standing up and beckoning her assistants. "Usually. Again, I've seen variations, and one or two that didn't fit the profile, but I'd say you're more right than wrong."

"Too much research," he said, smiling at her.

"Oh, I doubt you can ever have too much of that." She watched them manoeuvre the body inside the black bag, then said quickly, "Hold it."

"What?" Kate was immediately at her side as she went back onto her heels.

Lanie ran a hand down the dead girl's arm, stopping just above the elbow. "There's something … a box of some kind. I saw it when they lifted her up, inside the sleeve."

"A cell phone?"

"Not sure." She tried to determine its shape, then fell back, sitting down on the floor.

"What is it?"

Lanie was examining the latex glove on her hand, checking the fingertips. "Something sharp. Very sharp."

"Did it get you?"

"I don't think so." But she didn't sound too sure.

Kate looked up at Ryan. "Get her to the hospital. Full blood work."

"Kate, it didn't get through," Lanie insisted.

"Humour me."

Ryan put his arm around Lanie's waist, helping her to her feet. "Come on. Better safe than sorry."

"Fine, fine." She glanced at the technicians. "Make sure you bag her hands, so whatever's inside the sweatshirt doesn't fall out," she ordered before letting Ryan escort her away.

"Is she going to be okay?" Rick asked, watching them go.

"Probably," Kate said. "Occupational hazard. There's not one of us who hasn't known someone been stabbed by a needle they weren't looking for. Or worse." Still, there was concern in her grey eyes.

"It's okay to say you care, you know," he said quietly. "It's not actually against the rules."

She glared at him. "And you're still a material witness, and until we've taken your statement I think you'd better go back and give moral support to your date, don't you?"

"Date? You mean Maggie?" He glanced back to where the other woman stood, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold. "She's not my date."

"Perhaps, but I think maybe she needs some support. Unless she's as shallow as you and doesn't really take in the fact that a woman dropped dead in front of her."

Torn between doing what was right and doing what he knew could be more interesting, Rick paused a moment, giving Esposito time to move in from between two uniformed officers.

"Boss, there's something I think you need to see," he said.

Kate nodded and started to follow. Rick took a step forwards, but a glare thrown over her shoulder at him made him pause. He knew he'd be able to get the information out of her eventually, but it wasn't the same as seeing it first hand. That was something he'd come to realise very early on in their rocky relationship. Reading – or writing – about it and seeing the corpse wrapped in a rug, or lying in a rowboat … it wasn't the same thing at all. And sometimes it niggled him that he thought it was more fun.

Of course, so far he hadn't been anywhere near the truly disgusting murders, with dismemberment as part of the package, or a body turned to goo because it hadn't been found soon enough. But a part of him wondered if he'd feel the same way, that the excitement at dealing with a new crime outweighed the human cost.

And that human cost currently included Maggie.

He walked towards her, noticing her hands rubbing up and down her arms. "Here," he said, slipping out of his black jacket and hanging it around her shoulders. "It's shock," he explained.

She looked into his blue eyes. "Don't you feel it too? I mean, she's dead."

"Of course I do," he insisted, and pushed the treacherous little voice back down that he might just be lying.

She peered at him, as if she was trying to read his thoughts off the back of his head, and he hoped she didn't see something that sickened her, but oddly enough she seemed satisfied, and nodded. "So," she said quietly. "Twins?"

"Seems likely."

"Strange."

"Mmn."

"If this was a novel, I think my publisher would call it far-fetched."

"Mine too. Wherever she is." He glanced from side to side, half expecting Gina to appear in a puff of black smoke and accuse him of orchestrating the whole thing.

"I think she's gone. They're letting some of them leave, once they've taken details."

"Is that where Alexis is?" He looked around for his daughter, more shocked that he'd forgotten her than that a dead body had just been carried out.

Maggie nodded. "Martha took her home."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

"And miss all the fun?" She smiled shakily.

He put his arm around her and squeezed gently. "That's my girl."

"Actually Alex didn't want to go at all. She said if she stayed she might have a better understanding of what you see in Kate Beckett."

"Maggie –"

"She's very efficient, isn't she?"

Rick sighed inwardly, but only nodded. "Yes, she is."

"Good at her job."

"Very."

"No wonder you based Nikki Heat on her." She wrinkled her nose slightly. "And I have to say, that's a terrible name."

"It's a great name!"

"So the books are going to be called things like, oh, I don't know … _Tropical Thunder_? _In The Heat of The Day_? Or maybe … _Hot Sex_?"

He glared at her, wondering just how she'd got to know him so very well. "No."

"Oh? Well, good." She looked back at the people still being busy around the crime site. "Except you do have a thing for titles like that. I mean … _Gathering Storm_? Or even _Storm Fall_?"

She was laughing at him, and although he was severely tempted to pinch her, he contained himself. "My public seem to like them."

"Rick, your public would like it if you still wrote crap."

"Still?"

She smiled, relaxing a little. "So. Twins." She steered back to the matter in hand.

"Apparently. And far-fetched. I think we agreed on that."

"Only, you know, this doesn't feel right."

"Dead bodies usually don't."

She sobered again. "No. I mean … something else is going on."

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Your Spidey-sense tingling?" She'd always had a good nose for things, which was one of the reasons they'd become friends in the first place. Otherwise she might have told on him.

"Mmn."

"What about?"

"I'm not sure. But you said you'd already seen this woman dead once."

"Yeah, earlier today. Stuffed into a double bass case."

"But don't you think that's a coincidence of googolplexic magnitude?"

"Maybe." He leaned closer. "You saying we're being blind-sided?"

"Perhaps." She looked into his blue eyes. "What else is going on here tonight?"

He shrugged. "No idea. But I might be able to find out."

---

Kate studied the ear-ring on the floor, a yellow plastic number next to it. "Looks the same," she said, standing back up and looking at Esposito. "Our _vic_ was only wearing one."

They were in a large linen closet, metal shelves piled high with tablecloths, napkins, and other assorted dining paraphernalia.

"The door wasn't locked," Esposito explained. "Never is, not during a function. There's people in and out all the time, getting fresh supplies. If she was dumped here, it was only a matter of time before she was found."

Kate shook her head. "It's too neat. Why would anyone want her found? If you think she's dead, why not dump her in the river? It's easier, and traditional. Too many possibilities of forensic evidence being found otherwise. And if this was an accident, why not take her to the Emergency Room?" Something wasn't adding up, and it was like an itch she couldn't scratch. "Is there CCTV around here? Maybe we can get a picture of our perp bringing her in."

"I've got someone talking to the manager right now. No cameras in this corridor, but this leads down to the kitchens and a delivery bay, and the exits there are covered."

"Good." Looking down at the ear-ring again she worried at her lip. "As soon as you can, get a photo around all the hotel staff. If she's a guest they must know which room she's in, or if she's visiting, then with whom."

"On it." He paused, then said, rather diffidently, "You know, if we knew who she was, who they both are, I mean for sure …" Esposito left it hanging, the unspoken words reaching out to her.

"Damn." She sighed heavily. "Okay. Do it. Ask him. Only … not where I can see. He's only going to gloat."

Esposito dropped his head to hide the smile.

One of the junior detectives coughed to get their attention, and Esposito stepped to the doorway, leaving Kate on her own staring at the ear-ring.

As much as she hated to admit it, it looked like Castle was probably right. Assuming that the first girl was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time now seemed less likely, and all the neat ends were unravelling. She didn't quite stamp her foot, but very nearly. She hated it when he turned out to be correct. Then a small smile lifted her lips. At least she'd have the pleasure of informing him that this time they knew it wasn't Merrick Canfield who was responsible. He was probably still on stage at the Blue Cat club.

Esposito hurried back to her side, a strange look on his face.

"What?" she demanded.

"You're not going to like this."

"So far I haven't exactly enjoyed any of my day off," she pointed out. "Tell me."

---

"Sheik Amar Ben Arami." Rick whispered in Maggie's ear.

"Bless you."

He raised an eyebrow at her, then went on, "He's staying here, and it's rumoured he's got a diamond necklace with him that he intends to give to his new bride."

"Diamonds?"

"Big." Rick mimed them with his hands. "Quail egg-sized."

"Vulgar."

"Expensive."

"And you think –"

"Classic misdirection. Everyone's looking down here at the dead girl, while someone has it away on their toes with rocks worth enough to buy you the small island country of your choice."

"Hadn't you better –"

"Already did. Kate's on her way up to the Presidential Suite as we speak."


	7. Chapter 7

Rick stood outside his building, the newspaper in his hands whipping in the cold mid-morning wind. Still, it wasn't the weather that had his attention so much as the headline. 'DIAMOND ROBBERY AT THE WALDORF'. Then in slightly smaller type, 'Sheikh Demands Return Of Necklace – Police Baffled'.

"Are you baffled?" he asked as he opened the door of the car that drew up next to him.

Kate glared at the newspaper he waggled at her. "Baffled, no. Angry, yes."

"You know, it suits you. I like the way it makes your eyes sexy." He grinned at her and climbed in.

"Don't start."

"I was just saying –"

"Zip it." She gunned the engine and squealed away from the kerb, causing someone to toot their horn loud and long.

"That's probably illegal," Rick pointed out, barely managing to do up his seatbelt just in time to avoid being thrown forcibly across Kate's lap as she turned a corner. Although that might have been fun too.

"Sue me."

He folded his paper carefully then tossed it onto the back seat, smirking a little. If only the news crews had been flies on the wall after Kate had come back down from the Presidential Suite. Her boss was already calling, telling her to put everything else on hold until this was dealt with.

"The State Department's chewing the Mayor's ass," Captain Montgomery had said, his voice clear enough on the cellphone that Rick could hear, even though he was several feet away and it wasn't on speaker. Probably something to do with Kate holding it away from her ear so that she wasn't temporarily deaf. "He's chewing mine, and I'm not the only one who's going to have teeth marks."

"Sir, I have half a dozen case files on my desk, not to mention two fresh corpses that look like twins, and –"

"Are they connected to the theft?"

Kate took a deep breath and glanced at Rick, grinding out as if against her will, "It … looks like they might be."

"Then that's it. Everything else gets put on the back burner."

Kate hadn't kept the annoyance to herself, either. She'd told off the CSU guys for still dealing with the ballroom when the Sheikh's penthouse needed sweeping, Esposito for not yet getting access to all the CCTV footage, particularly for the cameras no-one was supposed to know about, Ryan for taking his own sweet time in getting back from delivering Lanie to the hospital – even though she did stop to ask how the ME was. Even Rick got it.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" she demanded. "Go away."

Rick, deciding discretion was the better part of needing to stand up to eat for a month, left the crime scene, Maggie in tow. They took a cab back to his place – Martha and Alexis having been driven home in the limo sometime before, at Maggie's insistence – where they sat up for a while, drinking hot chocolate and pondering the case, until Maggie fell asleep on his shoulder, and he followed soon after.

He'd woken that morning with a stiff neck, a blanket thrown over him, and a note pinned to it stating that his erstwhile sleeping companion had gone to bed, and that she wasn't to be disturbed unless it was an alien invasion. He presumed she was still asleep as he took the call from Kate inviting him, somewhat grudgingly, to join her in at the morgue.

Now she shot him a glare, then glanced over her shoulder at the paper on the back seat. "You want to litter somewhere, do it in your own car."

He smiled warmly. "No point us taking two cars, Kate. You know how hard it can be parking at the morgue. People die just to get a space."

"That's uncalled for."

"Accurate."

"Shallow."

"My middle name."

"Why do you do that?" she asked, wondering if she could beat a red light, then slamming her foot on the brake when she decided she couldn't. She turned to look at him.

"Do what?"

"Pretend. I've seen how you are with Alexis. You're not quite the crass, insensitive idiot you like to portray."

"Crass and insensitive mean the same thing," he pointed out.

"Just answer the question."

"I didn't realise there was one."

"You. Crass and – or – insensitive. Why the act?"

"Maybe it's not an act, Kate," he said, pulling his coat closer around him. Despite the heater being on, it was still icy in the car, although that might be the freezing air coming from her cold shoulder. "Maybe what I show my daughter is the lie."

"I doubt it."

"Then perhaps what you see is what you get." He pointed out of the windshield. "Light's green."

"I think no-one's ever said 'no' to you." The car moved off.

"You say no all the time." _So had Maggie_, he added silently. _And that hadn't done me any harm at all. _

Kate shook her head. "Not when it mattered. When you were just starting to have the money and the pull to do what you want, and get away with it. Nobody told you what you couldn't do. And because you're moderately charming and attractive, when you did get caught they let you go with a slap on the wrist."

"Only moderately charming and attractive?"

She ignored his interruption. "You need to grow up."

"Why? I have more fun than most of the grown ups I know."

"You're not a kid anymore."

Rick shook his head, and sighed contentedly. "Not sure I'd want to be. No. My college years were the best, at least on no money. And maybe you're right. Now I've got the zeroes in the bank, I can … indulge myself."

"And I do this for a living. I do it because I want to. Because –"

"Kate, I know."

His suddenly gentle voice had her stop, and she realised her hands were gripping the steering wheel way too tightly. "You're a grown man. With responsibilities."

Maybe he was embarrassed at showing he cared, because he was back to the jokes. "If you mean two failed marriages with accompanying spectacular divorce settlements, you're right."

"I think that underneath all that … crass insensitivity, maybe there's a decent man."

"You'll make me blush."

"Just don't waste it."

Rick squirmed slightly. It was all very well calling _her_ on her idiosyncrasies, her little peccadilloes, but he wasn't happy about all this touchy feely stuff being discussed about himself. Mainly because he was sometimes afraid that, if someone scratched away his surface layer, there wouldn't be anything underneath at all. "Kate, there's no point in me growing up. I did that already, and have the scars to prove it. Okay, I have a beautiful, talented and surprisingly well-adjusted daughter out of it, but I guess even I can't fuck everything up."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but sensibly decided not to comment. At least, not on that particular conversation. "By the way," she said, negotiating a tricky overtake of a huge truck, "Merrick Canfield is out of the frame, at least for the second death. I called the Blue Cat club. He was on stage all night."

"That's it. Make my day," he grumbled. Then his eye was caught by a newspaper vendor's sign. "Sometimes I don't really understand people. Someone steals a few diamonds and it makes the headlines. The death of two girls, on the other hand, barely makes page two."

Kate shrugged. "That's because, as far as the papers are concerned, dead bodies are a dime a dozen. It's New York."

Rick didn't dignify that with an answer, just hunched down in his seat, his arms wrapped around his torso.

---

"I want a raise," Lanie Parish demanded as they walked into her lab. "Don't I look like I need a raise considering the number of bodies down here?" She indicated the other covered gurneys.

"You know I'd give you one if I could," Kate promised.

"But you can't."

"No."

"Pity." She nodded towards Rick. "Can he?"

"I can call the Commissioner," Rick suggested, smiling, having regained his bonhomie. "See if I can arrange something."

"He's serious, isn't he?" Lanie said, shaking her head.

"I don't think he's ever been serious in his life," Kate pointed out.

"I seriously get on your nerves," Rick said, the smile turning to a grin.

"Ignore him and maybe he'll go away," Kate advised.

"Never."

Kate turned back to her friend. "Are you okay by the way?" she asked. "What did the hospital say?"

"They took a load of blood – not very well, either," Lanie added. "I could've done better and I deal with dead people. But they said it was just to be on the safe side. We checked the glove when I got there, and it didn't spring a leak, so I think I'm okay." She held up her hands. "But I'll be double-gloving for a while."

"Good." Kate pulled her professional persona back on. "Did you get both autopsies done?"

Lanie nodded. "When I got back from the hospital I didn't feel like sleeping, so I came down here. It's amazing the amount of work I can get done that time of the morning."

"I know what you mean." Kate smiled slightly. "So, what can you tell me about the first _vic_?"

They all looked down at the body of the girl, her eyes thankfully closed.

"First, we have IDs. They just came through."

Kate didn't even have to look at Rick to know the expression on his face. _Smug No. 5_, probably with a side order of superior self-satisfaction. And she didn't care if they did mean the same thing. "Go on."

"This one's Amanda Tyler. Twenty years of age, reported missing by her grandfather."

"Cause of death?"

"Strangulation. I was right about the bruising on the neck, and I found pitichial haemorrhaging in the eyes. Whoever he was, he was strong."

"He?" Rick got in before Kate could.

"Big hands." Lanie put one of hers against the discolourations on Amanda's neck. "See?"

"And strong?" Kate asked quickly.

"He broke the hyoid bone like it was matchwood."

"Anything else?"

"These." Lanie lifted up one of Amanda's arms.

"Defensive wounds," Rick murmured, staring at the scratches and other marks.

"Mmn. Whatever was happening, she didn't like it."

"Any trace under her fingernails?" Kate wanted to know.

"She'd have scratched her attacker, but I didn't find anything." She shook her head. "Too many TV programmes about on forensics, and the perps start to know what we're looking for."

Kate exhaled. "Was she raped?"

"No. No sign of any semen, or indications someone used a condom. I'd say she died before he could get much further than taking off her clothes."

"All of them?"

"I'd say so. I think she was re-dressed." Lanie picked up an evidence bag, the black bra and pantie set inside. "These are going to the lab, but I can tell you this: her panties were inside out."

"So?" Rick almost took a step back at the look both women gave him. "What?"

"If a woman accidentally puts her underwear on the wrong way, they take them off again, do it right," Lanie explained patiently. "Hardly any women would leave them."

"Unless they were superstitious."

"What?" This time it was Kate who was perplexed.

"Some people think it's unlucky to take off something that's been put on inside out."

"I doubt her luck could have gotten much worse." Kate shook her head. "ToD?"

Lanie shrugged. "It's difficult to say for sure. The cold inhibited any insect activity, decomp wasn't very advanced … I'd say three days, max."

"Any way you can be more specific?"

"Once I get the test results back, perhaps."

"Anything else?"

"Well, I did find something on her skin inside the bra, and I've taken a sample. I'll let you know as soon as I do what it is." She turned to the next gurney. "And now on to contestant number two."

"You know, this is beyond creepy," Rick muttered, looking back at the first girl, feeling like he was suffering from double vision.

Kate pursed her lips. "For once, I think maybe I agree with you."

Lanie read from her medical report. "Michelle Tyler. Obviously the same age, but the cause of death isn't. Nowhere near." Reaching behind her she picked up another evidence bag. "This was strapped to her arm."

Kate and Rick peered at it, heads close together.

"So it _is_ a mobile cellphone," Rick said, almost disappointed.

"Not quite. It's going to the techs, but I thought you'd like to see it first. Look." She turned the bag around.

It was a phone, but with some unusual alterations. Attached to the back was another, smaller contraption, maybe half the length of the original, held on with silver duct tape. A short stub of needle projected from the edge, inwards at an angle, and what Lanie said next confirmed their suspicions.

"It broke off, probably when she fell, and I took the rest out of her arm. There's a residue on it, and it's being analysed."

"So this is …" Kate prompted.

"Some kind of automatic hypodermic system. Leave your victim someplace, you go and grab a coffee, then call the phone. It activates and uses the battery to power the injector."

"So she was poisoned,"

"Oh, yes. Her body basically shut down. All the major organs failed, but it was her heart stopping that finally killed her."

"Clever," Rick mused.

Lanie beckoned to one of her assistants, who approached and took the evidence bag, leaving silently on rubber soled shoes. "We might get lucky and find some stray DNA on something, or maybe a hair inside the tape, but I'm not holding my breath."

"And I'd bet the phones are disposable," Kate said quietly. "Bought just for this purpose."

"I don't think anyone'd be taking that bet."

"Hmmn." Kate looked thoughtful. "Murder by remote."

"Good title for a book," Rick put in, then added, "But it does mean Canfield could have done it." A little voice inside his head wanted to know why he was being so stubborn over this, but he ignored it.

Kate didn't. "The linen closet's in constant use during any function. It was only a matter of time before someone found her. No, if she was the diversion, the person with the phone was in the hotel, and Canfield was on stage all evening." She looked up at Lanie. "Anything else?"

"Only that you might want to look into the MIT sweatshirt. It was four sizes too big for her, and brand new, still had the plastic loop for the price tag in it, so maybe your killer couldn't get her normal clothing on over his device. Apart from that, you're going to have to wait for the tox screens to come back."

"I could always call –" Rick began, then stopped as the breath whooshed from his body due to his midriff coming into contact with Kate's elbow.

---

Kate didn't speak for a long while, her mind playing over all the possibilities, seeing what fitted and what didn't, and for once Rick let her think. At least until they stepped out of the elevator onto their floor at the precinct.

"I still say we go and roust Canfield again," he suggested. "Hit him with the fact that his double bass case was used to dump a body, and see if he recognises one of the girls."

She turned on him, her grey eyes lit with internal fire. She kept her voice low so as not to attract attention, but her meaning was more than clear. "We can't go around accusing innocent citizens of murder. Not without proof. And certainly not when we know he wasn't in any position to have committed that murder."

"And Amanda Tyler? The first girl? Found in his case, which was so conveniently stolen from his dressing room. You don't think that's just a bit too much coincidence?"

"Of course I do. And I agree with you that there's something he's not telling us. But we do this right. Otherwise a good lawyer would call this harassment and get any case thrown out of court." She paused a microsecond. "You know those kind of lawyers, don't you? At least, I presume so. From your file."

"Are you planning on beating me up?" he asked, the corners of his lips lifting. "Only if you are, can I get it on tape? You know, for later."

She glared at him even harder, if that was possible, then turned in disgust, almost running into Esposito.

"What?" she demanded.

He glanced between the two of them, leaped to the right conclusion, and decided to stay out of the argument. He held out a file. "Our _vics_ IDs."

Kate took a breath. "Lanie gave us the basics."

"There's a bit more in there, but not much."

"How come their prints are on file?" Rick wanted to know.

Esposito explained. "They ran into trouble on their eighteenth birthday."

"Didn't we all."

Kate ignored his aside, reading from the file. "According to this, they stole a car with some friends and went joy-riding. Her grandfather paid the fine, but they're in the system."

"One of them got caught with some weed a year later, but got off with a warning," Esposito added.

"Didn't we –" Rick stopped, seeing the look Kate had given him, and not wanting any more bruises that he might have to explain away. Instead he asked, "So are you going to talk to their grandfather?"

Kate nodded. "I have to."

"You want some moral support?"

She looked at him, her grey eyes calculating. "It won't be pretty."

"I know."

"If you come, it'll be a case of seen but not heard."

"Quiet as the grave."

She sighed at his inappropriate choice of words. "Then later today. But I have an interview to conduct first."

"Oh, she's here, by the way," Esposito said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Good."

"Who?" Rick asked. "Kate? Who's here?"


	8. Chapter 8

Rick and Kate gazed through the two-way mirror at the woman sitting at the table in the interrogation room. Maggie Maguire was studying her hands, or at least her head was dropped slightly, although she didn't seem to be focused on her fingers.

"You're not serious," Rick said, turning on his partner.

"She knows altogether more than I'm comfortable with."

Rick stared at her. "She's a writer! That's what she does!"

"She knew it was about twins and a diversionary tactic before we did." Kate was feeling particularly stubborn, not helped by the fact that she herself had got a call from the Mayor that very morning, in fact very early that very morning, waking her from a sleep troubled with dreams of a certain author. Being woken up wasn't a problem, but having him tell her in no uncertain terms to "get your finger out and figure out what moron stole something he doesn't have a hope in hell of fencing" was. And because Rick was there, she was taking it out on him. Sort of.

"Because I told her that I'd seen the woman already dead, and the diversion was something that just came up." Rick shook his head, noting the set of her jaw. "You've got nothing to hold her on. You know that."

"I'm not. Esposito called your place, and she's come in of her own accord. To help us."

"Right." He crossed his arms, his body language shouting what he was really thinking.

"And if she's got nothing to hide, she's got nothing to worry about."

"Except you think she has."

Kate lifted her eyebrow, but strode towards interrogation, Rick following, shaking his head.

---

Maggie looked up as the door opened. "Detective."

"Miss Maguire."

Rick slid into the room before Kate could close the door, earning himself a cold glare. He let it slide off him, like water off a duck, and turned to Maggie. He smiled amiably. "Hi."

She returned it. "Hi."

"Seems like a touch of déjà vu."

"Just a touch."

"Here." He put a mug of coffee down on desk. "I thought you might be able to use this."

"Thanks. It's pretty cold out." She cupped her hands around it, letting the heat warm her fingers.

"Don't thank me yet. You haven't tasted it. The espresso machine's broken, and I was going to go down to the pod on the corner, get you a decent one, but I figured she probably wouldn't let me in if I did that." He nodded towards Kate.

"Thanks anyway."

"You're welcome," he said, retreating to the corner of the room.

"Oddly enough, we're not here to discuss the relative merits of precinct coffee." Kate sat down, placing two folders on the desk in front of her. "Rather a case of double murder."

"So it was murder," Maggie muttered.

"And that has me wondering if you don't know more about it than you're letting on."

Maggie glanced from Kate to Rick and back, then leaned forward, speaking quietly. "You know, if you're going to do the whole good cop/bad cop thing? It helps if both of you are cops."

"Castle is here as an observer only."

Maggie sat back. "Right."

"And he's not going to say another word."

"Good luck with that. I've never managed it." Maggie's lips twitched as she saw the affront on Rick's face.

Kate didn't even flicker. Instead she pulled two photos from inside one of the folders. "Do you recognise these women?"

Maggie studied them, apparently taken at the time of post-mortem from the stitches visible just below their shoulders. "Well, that's the one from the awards. I don't know the other."

"How can you tell? They're twins."

"She's got her ears pierced." Maggie tapped one of the pictures. "I noticed because she only had one ear ring in. I … I wonder if it means the other one is …" She unfocused for a moment, then saw the look on Beckett's face and added quickly, "She's got pierced ears, the other one doesn't."

"That's what you remember. Not that she was dead."

"They're both dead, so I don't see that makes any difference. And yes, I do remember this girl dying in front of me. All too damn well." She took a deep breath, and visibly made herself loosen up. "Besides, I notice things. I make assumptions. Then I make up stories about those assumptions. I do it for a living."

"Stories and assumptions." Kate raised an eyebrow. "And what stories and assumptions did you come up with for last night?"

Maggie shrugged. "Detective, there were a lot of people in that room, and I can guarantee you that each and every one of them has an idea about what was going on, some probably more bizarre than others. Are you going to be talking to each of them?"

"No. Mainly because they didn't let slip about it being a diversion."

Rick was about to intervene, to say that Maggie hadn't let slip anything, but then he caught sight of the look in her eye, and relaxed. This was the Maggie he used to know, the one who didn't let anyone get anything over on her. He smiled slightly and leaned nonchalantly against the wall.

"Let slip." Maggie laughed. "Right. You know, I wish I had thought to rob the Sheikh. I could do with the pocket money." She became serious again. "Look, we all make up stories. Each of us in this room. Rick and I are writers, but you do it too. You look at the facts, work up a theory. Just a story by another name."

"And yet you were there when Michelle Tyler died."

"Michelle? Was that her name?"

"Her sister was Amanda. Their grandfather is the only one left now. And I have to go and tell him that they're dead." Kate was exaggerating a little. The local LEOs would have been round to inform him, since he technically lived outside the Manhattan area, in the Bronx, but it was still going to be a difficult visit.

Maggie leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her hands clasped lightly, the coffee forgotten. "I don't kill people, Detective Beckett." She paused, then added, "Well, maybe on paper, but not in real life."

"You knew about the robbery." Kate wasn't about to let it go, picking away at it, and slid another photo out from the second folder, this one of a diamond necklace that would have been vulgar to anyone but a Liberace fan. Even though it was just a picture, the glare was almost overwhelming.

"I guessed. I told you, it's like a book plot. And nothing is ever as simple as it seems, at least in print."

Rick had said pretty much the same thing, Kate realised. Perhaps it was something to do with being a writer, having to see conspiracies in everything. "You have to admit it's a coincidence."

Maggie was starting to get annoyed, and she allowed it to show. "I made up a story! Out of the thousands that I do, every day without even thinking about it, by the law of averages there has to be a percentage that are true."

"That just doesn't cut it."

"Okay. I'll prove it. I could make up a story about you. That, because you've been working with Rick, you think what he and I do is easy, that it's money for nothing. So you've been working on a novel …" Off an uneasy look that flashed across Kate's face before she could stop it, Maggie gained confidence, and carried on. "Probably crime, since that's what you know. With a love story. Only you're stuck. Round about a quarter of the way through. You know how it wants to end, but you can't get there. I'd be happy to read it, if you like," she added brightly. "Give you some helpful hints."

Rick was intrigued, and stared at Kate. Here was yet another side of the woman he'd barely scratched the surface of.

The very faintest of blushes touched Kate's cheeks. "No, thank you."

"Still, I think I've made my point." Maggie smiled, a bit like the cat that not only got the canary, but filled the whole damn aviary with feathers. "Now, I've answered your questions, and unless you have anything else, I've an appointment to get to, so I'm going to go now. But if you want any more assistance, I'll be at the Park Central." She stood up, paused for a moment in case Kate was going to arrest her, then walked out, exchanging an odd look with Rick on the way.

He didn't follow. Instead he stared at his partner. "You're writing a novel? Why didn't you tell me?"

"How did she know?" Then Kate cursed inwardly for having admitted to something she knew he was going to hold against her.

"No idea. But she's good. You've got to admit that. She picked up on … wait a minute. The Park Central?" He hurried out, but there was no sign of her. Turning to where Esposito and Ryan were at their desks, he asked, "Hey, did either of you see where -"

Kevin Ryan put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone he was using, and pointed. "Bathroom."

"Thanks."

Rick half ran to the ladies room, slamming the door open. A uniformed police officer glared at him, then pushed past, muttering under her breath.

"Maggie?" he called.

"What the …" There was a pause, then the sound of water flushing. Maggie exited from one of the stalls, pulling her black leather coat back around her. "Rick, this is the ladies bathroom, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I wasn't planning on using it." He stepped towards her. "What's all this crap about going to the Park Central?"

"It would be better, don't you think? I mean, I was only going to be staying a night or two anyway." She turned on a tap over one of the sinks and washed her hands.

"You know that isn't a problem."

"I don't want you to have a conflict of interest."

"Maggie, I'm only a consultant. There is no conflict. Granted, Kate would love to have me out of here, so -"

"Exactly. And that wouldn't be a good idea. Someone has to solve this." Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser she began to dry her hands, each movement as if she was strangling someone, gazing at him in the mirror.

"She will."

"You think?" She glared at his reflection. "She's convinced I did it."

"Did you?"

She leaned on the counter under the mirror, her fingers tapping as she made each point. "Hmn, let me see. So, sometime between me getting off the plane and the awards … I suppose I could have sneaked away from either the driver, your mother, your daughter, you … and found twins, taken one back in a time machine and killed her, poisoned the other, and got back just at the right moment for her to die in front of me. While I managed to clone myself so I could go and rob the Sheik. Absolutely. Sounds like a terrible plot."

"I don't think it's that bad." He was trying to make a joke, but she wasn't laughing.

"Fine. Use it. _Mazel tov_." She tossed the used paper towel into the bin and walked out, but he was still at her heels.

"Maggie, why are you angry with me?" he asked.

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

She pushed the button to summon the elevator. "It's the best you're going to get."

"Is it because of Kate? I explained why I didn't tell you. And I apologised."

"It's not. And I'm not angry with you." She pressed the call button again.

"You're giving a pretty good impression of it."

She turned on him. "Rick. It's your life. I don't have a say in it." The elevator doors finally opened, and she stepped inside.

He stepped forward. "Maggie -"

She put her hand in the middle of his chest. "You know, I was right. You never do shut up." She pushed and the elevator doors closed. He was left staring at the blurred image of himself, his face over-written with the words engraved on the metal – _12__th__ Precinct_.

"Castle? You okay?" It was Esposito, on his way somewhere.

Rick took a deep breath, and managed a smile. "I'm fine."

"Good. Because Kate said for you to meet her downstairs, if you wanted to go and see the Tylers' grandfather with her."

"Oh. Right, thanks." He glanced up at the indicator, showing the elevator was still on the ground floor, and decided he needed the exercise. He headed for the stairs.

---

Kate was right. It wasn't easy. Dominic Tyler was probably only in his early sixties, but he looked twenty years older. The various sporting trophies around the room were testament to a life filled with activity, as were the photos of him playing golf, tennis, even taking part in the New York marathon, but despite the fact that some of them were probably only a year or so old, he looked like he could barely walk to the end of the block now. His cheeks were sunken, and his shoulders bowed, and neither of them were under any illusion that he hadn't been crying before they arrived.

"Mr Tyler, did either of your granddaughters have enemies?" Kate asked, coming to the end of the list of questions she had to ask, and not having got much more information beyond they were good girls.

"No. None." Tyler twisted a paper tissue between his fingers, tiny fragments drifting to the floor. "They were only twenty, for God's sake. How many enemies do you think they could make at that age?"

"What about boyfriends?" Rick asked, his heart going out to this man, and he offered up an honest prayer that he'd never have to go through this about Alexis.

"Michelle wasn't interested in boys. She was too focused on her career." Tyler got up and took a photo frame from amongst those clustered tightly on the piano. He handed it to Kate. "She was a pianist. She was enrolled in Juilliard, and they expected great things of her."

Kate handed the picture to Rick. It was of a young girl, obviously one of the Tyler twins although it was impossible to say which one. She was smiling broadly at the photographer and seated at that very piano.

"She looks … happy," he said, falling back on weak pleasantries.

Tyler didn't seem to notice. "She was. Very happy. Always laughing."

"Did Amanda have a boyfriend?" Kate asked.

Tyler sat back down and resumed tearing the tissue to shreds. "Yes. She said it was true love, only if it was it wasn't the kind she wanted to talk about. Andy. Andrew. That was his name."

"Do you know his surname? Where he lived?"

"No." Tyler shook his head. "Amanda always did keep things close to her chest, especially anyone she was interested in." He looked up. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay."

"Michelle knew about him, because they talked about him sometimes, and I got the impression he was older, and maybe she thought I wouldn't approve because of that. But I heard them a few times. I remember …" He stopped.

"Go on."

"No. It's stupid."

"Mr Tyler, nothing's stupid. Even a tiny little detail might help us catch your granddaughters' killer."

Tyler sniffed hard, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "It's just that, I remember her saying that she thought he might have a split personality sometimes. Most of the time he was fine, attentive, buying her flowers and such, then other times she said he was a real jerk." He almost smiled. "But I put it down to her, more than anything. She's not really like her sister. Sometimes it's so hard to get her to smile …" He stopped, realised what he said, and the grief hit him all over again. He seemed to crumple in on himself. "They were my life," he whispered. "Since my son and his wife were killed in a car crash, they were the only reason I kept going. When we realised Amanda was missing, Michelle was distraught. She was spending all her time just searching, and then when she didn't come home last night …" His voice caught and he couldn't go on.

Kate went down onto her heels in front of him, putting her hand on top of his. "Mr Tyler, I understand how you feel. Believe me. But leave it to us. I promise, we'll find him."

"Thank you."

"We'll be going now," Kate said quietly. "But if you think of anything that might help, please call me." She put one of her cards on the table next to the sofa, and stood up.

"Yes, yes, I will." Tyler managed to pull himself together enough to get to his feet. "Let me see you out."

"No, that's not necessary."

"Of course it is." This time he managed a small smile. "I was brought up to treat ladies properly."

Kate nodded, and allowed him to escort them to the door. As they stepped out into the cold, she asked, almost as an afterthought, "Did he ever get flowers delivered? The boyfriend."

"Occasionally. A few times."

"Who by, do you remember?"

"Cunningham's, at least the ones I saw. I guess the name stuck because I used to date a Wendy Cunningham."

"Thanks." She smiled and walked down the steps to the pavement.

"You didn't ask if they knew Merrick Canfield," Rick asked as they reached the car, both of them aware that Dominic Tyler was watching them from the stoop, his arms wrapped around himself.

"Neither did you." Kate unlocked the car and pulled the door open.

"True." Rick held up a finger. "Wait there." He jogged back towards the house.

"Castle!" Kate hissed, but he took no notice. After a few seconds he shook Tyler's hand and headed back. "Well?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

"They didn't know him."

"I could have told you that."

"But they knew _of_ him." He opened the door and climbed inside.

She followed, her eyes narrowed. "And that's a distinction … why?"

"Because he used to give regular lectures at Juilliard."

"So?"

"So Michelle attended there. He might have … seen her, maybe with her sister … decided to have a little, I don't know, dalliance with Amanda, and it got out of hand."

"Out of hand."

"A sex game gone wrong."

"And Michelle was involved how, exactly?"

"Maybe she walked in on them."

"So he killed Amanda, kept Michelle someplace while planning to rob the Waldorf. Good plan." Kate sighed heavily. "Look, Castle, I've given you a lot of slack over this case, but we don't have the time to go after someone just because he trod on your toes."

"He didn't tread on anything of mine."

"Then why are you convinced he's involved?"

He tapped his nose. "Experience."

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned the key to the engine with more force than was entirely necessary. "I have two bodies lying in the morgue, a diamond necklace probably being taken apart as we speak, and a writer of lurid prose getting on my nerves, and I don't –"

"Lurid?"

She ignored the interruption, just spoke a little louder. "I don't have time to be chasing someone that there's no evidence for."

"And if I got you some evidence. You'd take a look at him then." It wasn't a question.

"Maybe." She pulled the car away from the kerb, seeing Tyler wave at them in the side mirror.

"All I'm asking for is a little encouragement here."

She glanced at him. He was doing the puppy-dog eyes. "Castle, you don't need any encouragement. I've discovered it doesn't matter what I say, you go ahead and do it anyway."

"Well, yes, there is that." He managed to look a little sheepish. "But I promise I'll get better. I stay in the car when I'm told, don't I?"

"Sometimes."

"Ninety-nine percent of the time."

"Maybe forty."

"Oh, come on, at least eighty."

"I'll grant perhaps … forty-five."

"Sixty?"

"Fifty. And that's my final offer."

"Great." He grinned. "It's a deal."

"What?"

"I'll stay in the car more often, if you'll look into Canfield."

She slammed her foot on the brakes, causing Rick to be thrown forward, hitting his nose on the dashboard. "What?" she demanded.

"Shit, Kate, did you have to do that?" Rick sat back in the car seat, his hand to his face.

"You should be wearing a seatbelt."

"I didn't know you were going to do an emergency stop!" He gingerly touched his nose, exploring it carefully. "I think it's broken."

"I doubt it."

"How do you know?" He glared at her. "I could be disfigured for life."

"You're not even bleeding."

"Might be internal."

Her eyebrows raised. "Internal?"

"It could be," he insisted.

"Here. Let me look."

"No." He moved out of reach. "You'll just be mean and tweak it."

"I promise I won't."

He didn't look convinced. "I don't know …"

"Castle, don't be such a baby." She grabbed his coat collar, pulling him towards her. Taking hold of his chin, she moved his head this way and that, studying the affected portion of his anatomy. "It looks fine. A little red, but fine."

"Red?" he almost squeaked, tugging his face from her hand and peering into the rearview mirror. "I've got a magazine layout to do in three days!"

"It's just red. It'll be fine by then."

"Since when were you a doctor?"

"Fine. Want me to swing by the hospital for you?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, glaring at her.

"A little. Maybe forty percent." That reminded her, and she poked him in the chest. "And what was all that crap about me agreeing to look into Canfield?"

"Can I report you for police brutality?" he asked, rubbing at the spot.

"No. You signed away all your rights, remember?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Well, maybe next time you'll think twice." She went to poke him again, and he flinched. Dropping her hand and hiding a smile, she said, "We've got no evidence that Canfield was involved."

"What about your gut?"

"My gut has nothing to do with this. Good, solid evidence does."

"Then let me find you some." He glanced at his watch. "It won't take long. And they've just opened."

"Who have?"

"Humour me."

"I do that all too often."

"Then let me drive."

"No."

"Why not? My driving's a lot better than yours. Or are you scared?"

"Of your driving?"

"Of being proved wrong."

"Castle –"

"Half an hour. That's all it's going to take. Come on, Kate. Thirty minutes. What do you have to lose?" He'd forgotten his nose, and the look on his face was _Eager No. 1_, where he wasn't sure she was going to agree, but had a good reason for asking.

"My sanity?" she offered.

He knew he'd won, because _Eager No. 1_ became _Smug No. 3_. "We'd better get going," he said, gesturing forwards. "Or we'll get caught in the traffic."

"It's Sunday."

"It's also New York. When isn't there traffic?"

"I hope that's a rhetorical question."

His smile was warm. "Spoken like a true writer."

She groaned as she put the car into gear and moved off again. "So where are we going?"

"The Blue Cat club."

"But we know Canfield was on stage all night," she argued.

"Let's just talk to the main man, okay?"

"And who's that?"

"Drive."

She glanced at him, but he wasn't about to say anything else. Frustration warring with curiosity and losing, she shook her head slightly and pressed harder on the accelerator.

Behind them, in a non-descript brown Ford, their shadow slid into place, keeping a distance between the two cars, but not enough to lose them.


	9. Chapter 9

The Blue Cat Club looked like something out of the fifties, with a blue neon cat very imaginatively stretching across the lintel of the blue-painted door, and the name in equally electric blue flashing over a darkly-tinted plate glass window. As they went inside, Kate somehow expected to be met by a wave of blue Galloise smoke, but knew in her mind that since the laws had changed regarding bars and work places, if she'd found anyone with a cigarette in their hand she'd have been duty bound to arrest them. Still, it did seem like there was something missing, although perhaps she'd seen one too many old films set in post-war Paris.

It was early, so there were only a couple of patrons in the place, lounging in chairs against the wall, listening to the piano player picking away at a tune up on the small stage, a spotlight on him.

Rick moved through the tables to the front, stopping just to the side, his eyes on the pianist, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, head nodding gently in time to the rhythm that only appeared every now and then. She stepped closer to get a good view of the man playing.

He was much more what she expected. Probably around sixty or so, his black skin shone in the light, while a small pork pie hat was pushed back far enough on his head to reveal close-cropped white hair. He wore a suit that was a size too big, and an open-necked shirt with a vest beneath. His foot was massaging the pedals as his fingers, large and knotted, stroked the keyboard.

As he finished, he didn't even look up to see if anyone would applaud, which they did, although it was almost lost in the size of the room. Instead he reached for a drink sitting on top of the piano.

"You drop that inside, it might improve your playing," Rick said genially.

The man grinned and lifted his head slowly. "Castle. Ain't seen you around here in a month of Sundays."

"I've been," Rick defended himself. "Just because you haven't noticed me …"

"Not my fault." The man raised a hand towards his face.

Blind. He was blind, Kate suddenly realised. His eyes were whitened, scarred, and they weren't focusing on anything at all.

"Nor mine," Rick added.

"So what do you want?"

"Do I have to want anything?"

The man chuckled. "Usually. Even if it's only inspiration."

"Oh, I have that," Rick said, glancing at Kate.

"But you're leaving out the best part." The man sniffed, taking a deep lungful of air. "Hyacinth. Not strong enough to be perfume, so soap, maybe. Which means, unless you've changed the habits of a misspent lifetime, I'd say we're in the presence of a lady."

"Maybe I've started dabbing it behind my ears," Rick joked. "But you're right." He half turned. "Kate, I want you to meet the man with the knowledge about anything jazz. He knows more than any dozen so-called experts you care to name." He paused, as if waiting for a drum roll. "Gilbert Brockridge, known to all and sundry as Brock. Brock, this is Kate Beckett. My partner."

The black man held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Kate took it, finding it surprisingly soft and warm. "Mr Brockridge."

"Brock. Please. Else I won't answer."

"Brock."

"Good." He lifted her hand to his lips, just brushing across them before letting go. "Police?"

"Yes."

"Pity. Still, I bet you're beautiful."

"Oh, she is," Rick put in. "Not your type at all."

Brock smiled. "Ain't that the truth." His sightless eyes turned towards her. "You think I'm a cliché, don't you, Detective?" he asked.

"A bit," she admitted. "Although there's nothing wrong with that."

He smiled, then launched into a perfect rendition of the Grieg Piano Concerto, playing for perhaps a minute before ending with a flourish. "And now?" he asked.

"I'm impressed."

"You're supposed to be." Holding up his hands, he moved his fingers in a wave motion. "Classically trained, at least for a while," he admitted. "And now they take a song apart and put it back together in ways the author never intended." This time when he laid his hands on the keys the music was something familiar, but it took a few seconds to realise it was 'Happy Birthday to You'.

Fascinated despite herself, Kate asked, "Can you do that with anything?"

"Honey, if it's got notes, I can mangle it." He chuckled. "So what can I do for you?"

Rick glanced at Kate, who shrugged. Normally she'd have taken the lead in any interview, but for the moment she was content for him to ask the questions. Maybe if she gave him enough rope, he'd hang himself, she told herself. Although there was always the possibility he liked being tied up. She suppressed a lip twitch at the mental image.

Rick nodded and looked back at Brock. "We wanted to talk to you about Merrick Canfield."

Brock smiled wider, showing even, white teeth. "Ah. The fearless quartet leader."

"That's the one."

"What's he done?"

"Is he likely to have done anything?"

"Rick, you first came here as research. You keep coming back because you like my company. And maybe the music. But this is the first time you've wanted to talk about someone still alive."

Rick didn't want to give too much away, so just said, "It's … possible."

"Then I suggest we go take this someplace else." He stood up, and there was movement under the piano. A large German Shepherd, all shaggy fur and feet, appeared at Brock's side, nudging his leg gently.

"Hey, Zulu," Rick said, going down onto his heels to fondle the big dog's ears. "How're things going?"

The dog made an odd noise in the back of his throat, and rubbed his face against Rick's hand.

"He says he's getting old," Brock said, reaching for the harness handle.

"Aren't we all." Rick grinned and spoke to the dog. "But some of us will be handsome forever."

"He just likes you because you used to feed him treats," Brock pointed out.

"He was cute. I always feed cute things. Ask Alexis." Rick straightened up.

"And tell her I want to see her in here before too long." With just a little pressure on the handle from his master, Zulu led Brock off the stage and towards the back of the club.

"This place? Not until she's at least thirty," Rick vowed. "With a bodyguard."

Brock laughed and clicked his fingers.

"Boss?" A man dressed in a silver striped waistcoat and ebony shirt appeared. "You need anything?"

"Yeah. Get Tucson on the stage – he's going to do a set while I sit with my friends here."

"Sure thing, boss."

"And drinks. The usual for Rick and me, and …" His head turned towards where he somehow knew Kate was. "And for the little lady?"

Normally she would have bristled at being called such, but this time she let it pass. "Nothing for me."

"No, now, you have to. Else Nelson here will bring you champagne. On the house." He grinned.

Kate was amused. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Of course." Brock chuckled.

"You think _I'm_ bad?" Rick said. "Everything in a skirt that comes in here is fair game, as far as Brock's concerned. That made for a fun time when a couple of big men from Scotland were visiting our fair city."

Brock's laugh spun through the club. "Good times. Ah, all those good times." He sobered a little. "Now, come on. I'm guessing a white wine spritzer. On the dry side."

"No, really, I can't," Kate said. "I'm on duty."

"Then at least make yourself at home." He waved Nelson away and slid into a booth, Zulu at his feet.

Rick took off his heavy coat and laid it across the back of a chair before joining him. Kate perched herself on the outside edge, unwilling to get too comfortable.

"Brock, last night," Rick began. "Canfield was here, yes?"

The black man nodded. "Surely was."

"All evening?"

"From about seven thirty."

"How can you be sure?" Kate asked.

Brock lifted his wrist to show her his watch. "Just because I can't see doesn't mean I don't know the time." He touched a small knob on the side of the face, and the crystal lifted, allowing his sensitive fingertips to feel the hands. "You can get 'em now that have a kind of digital Braille," he explained. "But I like the old-fashioned sort."

"So I can see."

For a moment she wondered if he'd take offence at the unintentional wordplay, but he just smiled. "Kate, if people watched what they said around me all the time, they'd never speak to me." He stopped as Nelson brought their drinks, then added, "Anyway, yes. Seven thirty. I like to keep an eye on how long everyone performs, so to speak, just in case the natives get restless."

"And did they?" Rick asked.

"A little bit." Brock took a sip from his whiskey. "Normally he plays like a man who's seen too much suffering, and has to get it out of his mind before it sends him crazy. I mean, he's a nice enough guy off stage, but … last night … well, it was like he was only going through the motions. There was no real passion there. I got the feeling he could have reproduced that music any time."

"Isn't that the point of music?" Kate asked. "To be able to replicate it?"

"No. Almost exactly the opposite. A good jazz player never plays a piece the same way twice." He shook his head ruefully. "Of course, there are other schools of thought on that matter, but my personal opinion is that how a man plays is dependent on what he's seen that day, who he's conversed with, even how his morning coffee was. An almost infinite variety of possible combinations, and that makes for the differences. But like I said, I could be wrong."

"But you don't think you are."

"No, I don't."

Rick leaned forward, playing with the whiskey glass but not drinking from it. "Had Canfield ever played like that before?"

"Couple of times." Brock shrugged. "I guess even rich folk have bad days."

"How about earlier in the week? Maybe Wednesday, or Tuesday?"

Brock shook his head. "He wasn't here. He only ever plays weekends, and then only if he hasn't got a classical gig. In fact, he was here the previous Sunday, and played like a man possessed. Man, I have never heard him like that before, and to tell the God's honest truth, I'm not sure I want to ever again. Whatever had happened to him that day, either he was the happiest man alive or he was expecting the end of the world. Didn't like to ask which." He took another mouthful of alcohol, letting it swirl around his teeth and swallowing before adding, "Anyway, last night, he was here, either on stage or propping up the bar. He got a call around midnight, and his playing improved a bit after that, but he was here until gone one in the a.m."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He wears this cologne, should be banned. Smells like something my grandma used to use to polish up her nick-nacks. Every time I passed by I could smell it. Even made Zulu sneeze." As if he knew he was being talked about, the German Shepherd stirred under the table, turning around once before settling again.

"So he didn't leave?"

"Nope. Ask Nelson. He was serving him most of the time, and he told me Canfield was a morose son of a bitch. Not like his usual self at all."

Rick glanced at Kate. "Not his usual self."

"But like I said, we all have our off days."

Nelson reappeared. "Boss, phone call for you."

"Who is it?"

"Lorna Michaels. From the Soho Music Times."

Brock seemed pleasantly surprised. "Maybe I'm gonna be famous after all," he said, getting to his feet.

A guilty look had flashed across Rick's face, and Kate sighed.

"Another of your conquests?" she asked as she stood up. "How do you keep track of them all?"

"Electronic notebook," Rick replied, following suit. "Names, ages, dates, favourite positions … just imagine what your entry says."

Brock laughed before she could make a suitably pithy comeback. "You don't change," he said. He reached forward, and managed to take Kate's hand in his. Bending forwards, he kissed her knuckles again. "And you, dear Kate, are welcome any time."

"Thank you. I think."

She tried to pull away but he kept hold, a frown crossing his forehead as he rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.

"You know, it was odd." He spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "We shook when he left, and I'd swear he'd cut his fingertips."

"What?" Kate was now all ears. "What do you mean?"

"It's a rookie thing to do. Most bass players have calluses, from plucking the strings all day and every day. But he felt … well, like he'd worn grooves in them."

"Boss," Nelson said again. "Ms Michaels?"

"Go tell her I'm coming." He let go of Kate's hand, his scarred eyes still facing her direction. "And when you're ready, you come back and tell me what this is all about." He took hold of Zulu's harness and they followed the barman.

"How did he know I was police?" Kate asked, watching the man walk away back towards the office, his guide dog at his side.

"Brock used to be a bad guy," Rick explained as he shrugged back into his coats. "He lost his sight to a drive-by thirty years ago, and he always says it was the making of him. He went back to the piano, found not being able to see meant he could feel the music better, and … here he is. I guess he can still sniff out a cop." He laughed. "Especially when she wears hyacinth."

She ignored the last comment. "He's certainly a character."

Rick nodded, grinning. "That he is."

"No, I mean it. The jazz pianist in _Serpent's Tooth_ … that's Brock, isn't it?"

"I keep forgetting, you have my entire output." Rick looked smug as he opened the door for her before stepping out into the cold air. "It's so nice to have a fan."

"I was younger. Much younger."

"Are you saying I'm old?"

"Would I do that?"

"Yes."

"Well, even you can't turn back the clock, Castle." She strode along the sidewalk towards where they'd parked the car, knowing he was at her heels.

"What, and miss out on all these amazing experiences?" He shook his head. "Never in a million years. Besides, I think that was very informative."

She glanced at him. "You mean the way he gave Canfield an alibi we already knew about?"

"Not that. I mean the way he talked about the man. Twice in as many hours someone's described him as being two people."

"So?"

"Come on, Kate. You've got to agree that's significant."

She turned on him. "No, Castle, it's not. As interesting as that was, it was a waste of time I don't have. I'm supposed to be solving the mystery of the diamond necklace theft, not traipsing around after you trying to prove something that's … unprovable."

"There's no such word."

"I don't care. For all I know the man might be schizophrenic, and maybe he hasn't told us everything, which by the way is pretty par for the course, but he didn't kill Michelle Tyler, and he didn't rob the Sheikh."

"But you're going to look into his background."

"What I do or don't do is none of your business." She carried on walking, fishing in her pocket for the car keys.

"Kate, I know you. I know what you're feeling. And I know you think Canfield's connected with the deaths, and by extension with the robbery. You're beginning to think like me, Kate."

She stopped suddenly and he walked into her, even as she turned, her face like stone. "I do not think like you. And don't you ever suggest it again."

"Yes you do. And it's burning at you that you can't prove it. The fact that Canfield has such a solid alibi that it's almost like he arranged it that way." He was so close he could smell the scent of hyacinths, just as Brock had detected. "Tell me it's not true."

Whatever she might have replied was lost as the shop window shattered behind them, showering them with shards in a glittering cascade a moment before the sound of the gunshot registered.

With an admirable speed for a man of his advancing years, Rick took hold of Kate and threw her to the ground behind the car as two more bullets thudded into the vehicle's side. Then there was the sound of an engine revving, rubber squealing on the road surface, and all was quiet.

Until Kate said, "Can you get off me so I can draw my gun?"

Rick looked down at them both, his hips pressing into hers. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." He rolled to one side.

She pulled her pistol from its holster, edging above the hood of the car so she could see. "Damn," she muttered. "Long gone." She stood up, eyeing the smears of burned tyre tread on the road. "CSU might get something, though." She took her cellphone out and speed-dialled the precinct.

Rick slowly got to his feet, aware of the gathering crowd of passers-by, and went to brush the tiny fragments of glass from his coat when he stopped. "Wait a minute," he murmured. There was something on his hand where he'd been holding her arm. Something wet. And sticky. Angling his hand to the light so he could see, it looked … red.

He stared at the blood on his fingers. "Kate. You've been hit."


	10. Chapter 10

It was either really, really late when he finally turned the key in his front door, or very, very early, but whichever it was Rick felt half-dead on his feet, and not at all in the mood to be facing three irate women. Well, two irate women and an irate teenager. Okay, one irate woman, another who was trying to look irate under a pink padded sleep mask but was just managing to hide a yawn, and a very worried teenager.

"Are you okay?" Alexis asked, hurrying up to him and putting her arms around him.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

His mother looked him up and down. "You don't appear to be bleeding from anywhere."

"No, I'm …" Realisation, struck, if a little slowly. "Someone called."

"Kevin Ryan," Martha acknowledged. "He said there'd been an incident and you'd gone to the hospital."

"And you didn't rush down there to hold my dying hand?"

"No. He said not to, that he'd ring with more information as soon as he had it." Martha raised one eyebrow. "He didn't."

"If I'd known he'd contacted you I'd have called myself. To let you know I was okay." He looked down into his daughter's face, seeing concern etched on her normally smooth forehead. "You know that, don't you?"

Alexis nodded, for once looking like the fifteen year old she was. "So what happened?"

"It was Kate. She –"

"Kate? Is she all right?"

"She's fine. I just drove her home. She refused to stay overnight for observation."

"What happened?"

Without even thinking of the reaction he might incur, Rick said, "We got shot at. Down in Greenwich, outside the –"

"Shot at?" His daughter's arms tightened on him.

"He missed, pretty much, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Rick, this is the limit," his mother said, obviously irritated that her night's sleep had been interrupted for no good reason. "If you're going to have these kind of adventures, I'm going to seriously have to think of finding somewhere else to live."

"Really?" He couldn't help the grin. "Is that all it's going to take?"

She glared at him then flounced off towards her room in a cloud of brightly coloured kimono and high-heeled slippers.

"Dad, don't tease," Alexis chided.

"Hey, she only said 'think'. Personally, I've got the feeling it's going to take a whole load of C4 to get her out of here."

Alexis smiled a little. "That's not fair. Probably right, but not fair. And are you sure Kate's going to be okay?"

"Mmn." He rested his chin on her head, remembering Detective Beckett sitting in the open back of the ambulance, an EMT wrapping gauze around the top of her left arm.

"I don't need to go to hospital," she said coldly, the air temperature dropping around her far more effectively than the freezing wind could possibly do.

"You have to," the young man said, courageous in the face of adversity. "A bullet wound has to be checked out, no matter how minor."

"It's a scratch. I've had worse shaving my legs."

Rick had stifled a laugh at that, and tried to keep his serious, concerned face on. Once he'd realised it couldn't even really be classed as a flesh wound, he'd gone back to his normal, irritating, wonderful self, and it was hard not to show his relief. "Kate, honey, you have to go. For me."

"Call me honey again and you'll be the one going to hospital."

"Ooh, can I have the siren going?"

The EMT swallowed back on a chuckle, bending quickly back to his work.

"Fine. Fine." Kate gave in with little if any grace. "But I don't have time for this."

The doctor in the emergency room hadn't faired much better, feeling the sharp edge of her tongue when he suggested she stay overnight. So much so that he'd got an innocent young intern to clean out the minor wound, and catch the ragged edges together with a half dozen tiny stitches. After a very carefully applied injection of antibiotics to squash the risk of any infection from the bullet passing through her clothing, Kate announced she was leaving.

No-one tried to stop her.

Now he smiled at Alexis. "She's fine. Honestly."

"Then why are you so late?"

"She insisted on going to the precinct and filling in a report. The doctor said she shouldn't drive, so I said I would." He shook his head. "If it were anyone normal, I'd say she was in shock. But seeing as she's Kate, and normal isn't exactly in her vocabulary …"

Alexis pinched him, and he made a face at her.

"Then I'd better go to bed. I've got school in the morning."

"I could always write you a note."

She let him go. "No, but thanks. I have a test I don't want to miss."

He looked into her eyes, his own narrowed speculatively. "You sure you're my daughter?"

"You'll have to take that up with Mom," Alexis said, kissing him on the cheek before heading back towards her room. "'Night, Maggie," she said to the woman still standing in the hallway.

"Goodnight." It was the first word Maggie has spoken since Rick arrived home.

He gazed at her, a rather self-satisfied smile on his face. "Well, here I am. They haven't managed to kill me yet."

Maggie didn't reply, just span on her heel and headed for the guest bedroom.

Unfortunately she wasn't fast enough for Rick to avoid seeing all the blood leave her face.

"Hey, hey," he called, following her, his good humour subsumed under concern. He managed to get his foot into the door as she slammed it closed. "Ow!"

"Go away," she said, sitting on the bed, her back to him.

"No." He hopped inside. "What the hell is it with women? First my nose, then my foot … are you trying to tell me something?"

"Yes. This is my bedroom. Get out."

"Well, it's my apartment, so technically, no, it's mine."

"Fine. Then I'll leave and we won't argue." She stood up, grabbing one of her bags and starting to thrust items inside.

"I thought you were going anyway. To the Park Central, if memory serves."

"They've still got my reservation." She looked around for her clothing.

He hobbled towards her, taking hold of her arms. "Maggie, don't."

"Leave me alone." She pulled herself free and strode out of the room.

"Maggie, for the love of …" He ran after her, ignoring the pain in his foot, and catching her up by the kitchen. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"So that's why you've worked yourself into a state, over nothing?" He could see she was blinking back tears, and that wasn't like Maggie. At least, not since he had to console her when Max died. But then, she had really loved that dog, and … "Come on," he said, taking hold of her arm and pulling her inside. "If we're going to fight I'd rather we did it someplace quiet where my mother won't be taking notes."

Maggie glared at him, but allowed him to move her away from prying ears. She knew she was making a fuss, but somehow couldn't seem to stop herself. "I'm all right," she said, following him. "And we're not going to fight."

"Good. I get enough of that elsewhere." He leaned on the counter. "So would you like to tell me what this is all about?" he asked, adding quickly, "Remembering that I'm a man, and as such pretty useless at understanding female motives."

She stared at him then turned away, muttering something.

"Sorry, Mags. Didn't quite catch that."

There was a pause, and he wasn't sure if she was going to answer, then she said, only a little louder, "I thought you were hurt. And I hadn't said goodbye."

He relaxed. "So just because you waltzed off leaving me high and dry at the precinct –"

She span back to face him, this time angry. "I did not leave you high and dry!"

"Felt like it."

"I … you … it …" She could hardly get her words out, but at least she wasn't on the verge of tears anymore.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked. "If you thought I'd been shot, why didn't you call?"

"I did!" She closed her eyes for a moment, taking back control. "I tried. A dozen times," she said, calmer and more evenly. "I couldn't get through."

Rick reached into his pocket. "I didn't switch it off, I know … Oh." He stared at his cellphone. The screen was cracked right across, and even though he pressed all the buttons, even shook it, holding it to his ear in case it had a dying message, there was nothing. "I guess falling on top of Kate wasn't quite as soft as I'd thought," he joked.

"You … _fell_ on her?"

"Well, pushed her out of the way. Not that she needed it. She was already going down before I was, but … Hey, maybe chivalry isn't as dead and decaying as I'd thought."

"You mean you saved her life?"

"No. At least, not from the way she was swearing at me when she realised I'd rolled her into a puddle."

Maggie cracked a smile. "I hope you offered to get it dry-cleaned for her."

"Dry-cleaned, a replacement … whatever she wanted."

"Then I'm sure she's grateful."

"Not the word I'd have chosen." He held up the phone. "Maggie, it's broken. And I'm sorry." Taking a step closer, he dropped his head to the side so he could look into her face. "If I'd known Kevin had rung, I'd have made sure someone told you. Let you know I was okay. But, if I'm honest, I had no idea you'd react like this."

She hit him on the pad of his arm. "You're my best friend!"

He mouthed 'ow', rubbing at the spot. "And that means you can go around beating me up?"

"No, but it does mean you can't leave me thinking you're dead or dying!"

"Mags, I'm neither. I could be all literary and say we're all dying, in a sense, from the day we're born, but I won't. Mainly because I'd have to explain the bruises away. I said I'm sorry. Not quite sure what else to do about it. If I promise not to let it happen again, can we be friends again?" He held out his arms.

She glared at him, then walked into his embrace. "Bastard," she muttered.

"Now that's the Maggie I know and love." He half-smiled. "Look, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast, and what with all that's going on … how about some eggs?"

She bridled, but only a little. "Food isn't the answer to everything."

"Depends on the question." He hugged her a little tighter. "I'll cook. Like I used to."

She looked up into his blue eyes. "Do you have bagels?"

"Of course." He let her go and walked to the range, taking a large saucepan from the cupboard above and turning the heat on under it. As he worked, he talked idly. "It's been a while since we did this, hasn't it?"

"A while," she agreed.

"I think Alexis was about three. You were in your first post-publication panic, and I was worrying about whether I could afford to be a house-husband."

"You were very good at it. Being a stay-at-home dad, I mean. Alex is a credit to you."

"Oh, you really have to say that when she's listening," he crowed, grinning as he opened the fridge and extracted a carton of eggs. "Especially when she's telling me how immature I am."

"Okay, I will. But I happen to agree with her."

He smiled at her over the open door, snagging the milk and closing it with his foot. "Want to help?"

"Sure. I'll beat the eggs."

"Makes a change from beating me, I guess." He narrowly avoided the whisk she threw at his head.

It didn't take long until the smell of toasting bagels filled the kitchen, and Maggie's mouth was beginning to water. Still, she tried to keep her mind on business. "This isn't right."

He stared at the pan. "Why? What've I left out?"

"No, not the eggs. I mean the murder."

"Mags, murder is never right."

She shook her head, jumping up to perch on the kitchen counter. "I don't mean that. I was thinking about it this evening, while I …" She stopped, not wanting to go there again. "Anyway, I came to the conclusion that it's all very clever. _Too_ clever." She paused for a moment, getting her thoughts in order. "Stealing the diamonds, that device, the diversion … organised to perfection. Yet he strangles the first girl with his bare hands. That's an act of passion, no second thoughts."

She watched Rick butter the halved and toasted bagels, placing them carefully on each plate before scooping the scrambled egg into the middle. It was what they used to do late at night at college, then sit and talk until the sun came up. It made her feel oddly secure.

"Here." He handed her one with a fork.

"Thanks."

"And I agree with you." He tipped a little Worcester sauce on his, knowing she didn't like it so making the eggs without it. "But he knew what he was doing. She fought back, and he had to know she was no willing participant, even in the heat of the moment."

"And you still think it's that Merrick Canfield." She hoisted a large forkful of eggs into her mouth.

That was one of the many things he'd always liked about her. She didn't pick at a salad then claim she was full. She enjoyed her food properly, like a normal person. Filling his own fork, he chewed thoughtfully. "There's just something … and it's not just because he annoys me."

"Anything specific?"

"Not … " He stopped and gazed at her. "The truth is, I just don't see how he could be involved," he admitted. "He'd have to be two people." He briefly went over what he and Kate had learned from interviewing Dominic Tyler and Brock.

"Has Kate looked into cloning labs?"

He grunted a laugh. "Might be an idea." Jerking his head he added, "Come on."

Maggie jumped down from the counter and followed him on bare feet. Leading her to the living area, he slumped onto the couch, and she sat next to him, eating all the time.

"This is good," she said around another mouthful.

"Glad you approve." He grinned. "So, if it's not Canfield, who do _you_ think did this?"

"Patterson."

A look of delighted surprise crossed his face. "What?"

"Jealous of my success." She grinned. "And the fact that I beat him at poker every time I'm in town."

"You know, if I suggest it, maybe Kate will arrest him."

"Just because his books sell well."

"Hey, so do mine! And the new Nikki Heat series is going to be even more successful than Derrick Storm was."

"Rick, about that character name …"

"No. No discussion."

She decided to change the subject. "How's your foot?"

"It'll be okay. Probably only minor surgery required." He grinned. "It's fine."

"Good. Can't have you hopping around after Detective Beckett. It's not dignified."

"Since when was I dignified?"

"Very true."

"See, you know me all too well." He nudged her gently and nodded towards the big flat screen TV. "Hey, want to watch porn?"

She laughed.

---

Kate lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling. Her neighbour, Greg, still had his music on, but at least had turned it right down, and it was just a low hum on the very edge of her hearing, somehow an appropriate accompaniment to a sleepless night.

She knew she'd let Castle get to her. Dragging her off to meet Brock like that, even though he was a nice man, if flirtatious. It hadn't helped, although something was nagging at her. Something Brock had said about Canfield damaging up his fingertips. Try as she might, she couldn't remember seeing cuts on his fingers when they interviewed him, and he was beginning to think she was going to have to ask Castle if he noticed. Canfield had held her hand, and she … no. It didn't matter how hard she concentrated, she really couldn't bring it to mind.

She tried to roll onto her side but winced. Her arm was aching, the stitches pulling each time she moved. The doctor had given her painkillers, but they weren't something she intended taking unless it was really necessary. It didn't matter if it was pills, gambling or alcohol … they were all addictions she couldn't afford to have, not with her family history. Seeing her father go through it the way he had … she'd rather have the pain.

Her mind replayed the events of the evening, walking out from the Blue Cat club with Castle, the way he was niggling at her, like he always did, then seeing the dull reflection from a gun sticking from the window of an approaching car. She was already reaching for her own weapon when he'd tackled her, taking her down, and she hadn't had the opportunity to do more than note the colour, possibly a Ford, maybe not, before she was on the ground, Castle's weight on top of her. His face had been very close, his hair flopping over his forehead in that way he had, his eyes an intense blue …

No. No. And no. She wasn't going to go down that path. She'd already trodden it with someone else, and as familiar as it might be, it only led to one place. No matter how concerned he'd been, staying with her throughout the hospital, then the precinct, insisting she wasn't in any kind of state to drive herself home, she wasn't going to start fantasising about Castle. Although that was quite sweet of him. For a change. And not one quip or sexual innuendo.

Probably saving all of them up for tomorrow.

She glanced at the clock, then at the window. The weather reports had mentioned it might snow, which might make the city look prettier, but not stop the crime. So far there was no sign, but it was still a few hours until dawn.

It was no good. There was no way she was going to get to sleep, not yet. Throwing the covers back, she swung her legs off the side and grabbed the dressing gown lying ready. Standing up, she shrugged into it, ignoring the burning along her bicep. She slid her feet into the waiting slippers, then walked quietly into the living room, only switching on the light next to the sofa. In the subdued gloom she could just make out the books lined up on the shelves, and her lips twitched. Might as well. A good a way as any to send her to sleep.

She lifted down _Serpent's Tooth,_ by some obscure, middle of the line author named Richard Castle, and settled herself down, tucking her feet under her.

---

"You did what?" His face was rapidly reddening as he spoke into the cellphone. "Are you insane?"

The voice on the phone echoed back to him. _"They were getting too close."_

"Too …"

"_They went to see Dominic Tyler, and then to the Blue Cat."_

"So?"

"_I didn't know what to do."_

"So you let your temper get the better of you."

"_I … yes. I'm sorry."_

"Andrew, I told you to let me deal with it. You're too … emotional. It's how you got us into this mess in the first place. Now, leave everything else up to me. I'll handle it."

"_But –"_

"No buts. It's how we've always dealt with things, isn't it? I make the plans, you execute them."

"_I know. And you're right."_

"Good. Now, go to bed. And get rid of the gun first thing. You know full well they might be able to match the bullet to it if they find it."

"_Where?"_

"I don't know. We're on an island, surrounded by water. Use your imagination."

"_Okay. No problem."_

"And don't worry. They have no proof, none. The scrapbook is ashes, and they're looking in the wrong place."

"_I know."_

"Good night, Andrew."

"_Good night, Merry."_

There was a click in his ear, and the disposable cellphone was silent. Merrick Canfield stared at it, and sighed heavily.


	11. Chapter 11

Kate stirred. Opening her eyes, she wondered for a moment where she was, then she focused on the page in front of her.

'_Candy took one long, last, hard look at the man lying in the bed, his defined muscles begging her to reach out and run a finger down them, to lift the sheet away from his hips and …' _

Of course. _Serpent's Tooth. _Not one of Castle's best, but his fans didn't mind. Sometimes she wondered why he didn't just copy out the New York telephone directory and add in a few sex scenes – it would probably sell as well as any of the Storm books. Although she wasn't going to suggest any such thing since he was probably insane enough to try it.

Dropping the book on the sofa next to her, Kate stood up, groaning slightly as a few aches and pains made themselves known. It wasn't the first time she'd slept in an awkward position, and undoubtedly it wouldn't be the last either, but that didn't stop her muscles protesting.

What she needed was a shower, but how she was going to manage that with her arm still bandaged up was going to be difficult. Still, not impossible.

Fifteen minutes later she was dressing, somewhat pleased with herself. The dressing was barely damp, and she'd even managed to wash her hair. Now, if she could only remember where she'd put her hairdryer ...

Someone knocked on the front door. From force of habit, and – sad to say – experience, she made sure her gun was in easy reach before peering through the spyhole. Damn. Greg Albery.

She flung the door open, her face set. "What?"

Her neighbour actually took a step back. "What? Oh. I just ..." He held out a basket. "I wanted to apologise. You know. For the music."

She glanced inside, seeing it was filled with muffins. "That isn't necessary."

"Yes, it is." He smiled, somewhat tentatively, given her apparent mood. "I was taught to offer gifts when apologising. It's more ... polite." He tipped the basket a little more. "I got those little double chocolate ones. You know. The kind you like."

Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know what I like, Greg?"

He shrugged, a guilty look crossing his face. "I just ... I noticed the last time you bought some. The empty box was in your trash with the receipt, so I went ... and ... and … asked." He stammered to a halt.

"You went through my garbage?" Her tone was now icy.

"You know, you really shouldn't leave receipts in bags," he went on, talking fast now to try and fill his obvious blunder. "I know someone who had her entire identity stolen because she didn't shred. If you want, I can let you use my shredder. It only takes a few seconds and –"

She interrupted. "Greg. That's bordering on stalking."

"No, not ... not stalking."

"I could arrest you."

"I just ..." He looked embarrassed. "You're my muse."

"What?"

"My muse. In my writing. My inspiration. My incentive. My –"

"I know what it means." _Another one_, she thought to herself. _What is it about me? Do I wear the wrong perfume or something? Does it attract them?_ Aloud she said, "Stop this, Greg. I'm not interested."

"But you're so beautiful. If I could just –"

"No." She suppressed the sigh that threatened. "Greg, you're a nice boy. But that's all you are. A boy. You need a girl your own age, and – no, don't interrupt. I may only be a couple of years older than you, but it's enough."

"But I like older women –"

"I'm not interested. So no more muffins, or gifts, or anything else. Just keep the music down, and we'll say good morning in the elevator, or good night in the hall, but that's it. There will never, ever be anything more."

"Did you have a bad night or something?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

This time the sigh slid past her lips. He wasn't listening. So unless she actually got her gun out and shot him ... "Greg, go home. I have to get to work."

"Oh. Okay." He turned, then stopped. "I ... um ... got you a paper." He held it out, only waiting long enough for her to take it before hurrying back inside his own apartment.

She closed the door and leaned on it, pulling back immediately as she felt the bullet wound sting. Resisting the urge to rub at it, she dropped the paper on the hall table, her eyes lighting on her coat hanging up next to it. Her favourite coat, as it happened.

She reached up, fingering the hole in the sleeve, noting the stain all across the back.

It wasn't all Castle's fault, she knew. He was just trying to help, taking her out of the line of fire, even though she was fully in control. In fact, if he hadn't dragged her to the sidewalk she might have been able to identify the driver, perhaps even got a shot off, stopped the perp in his tracks. Instead all she had to show for it was a ruined coat, and stitches.

All because Castle was determined that Merrick Canfield was somehow responsible for the death of one or maybe both of the Tylers, despite proof that he couldn't be. Although current evidence did seem to suggest they were getting warmer, unless this had been just a random drive-by.

No. She shook her head. It wasn't going to be intuition that solved this crime – it was going to be good, solid police work, something Castle knew absolutely nothing about. Well, maybe something. A little. Okay, he had an idea.

A trickle of cold ran down her neck, and she realised she'd been interrupted in her search for the hairdryer. Better find it so she could get to that work, or she might just catch pneumonia. That wouldn't do ... Castle would probably insist on bringing her flowers every day. A slight smile lit her lips. Although that might be nice. Once in a while.

The smile died as she glanced at the photo in the newspaper, bottom right of the front page. It had been planned, of course, this slow release of information, but as she went to dry her hair she wondered just what lunatics it was going to bring out of the woodwork.

---

For the second morning in as many days, Rick awoke on the sofa, but this time he realised he was not alone. He had his feet on the coffee table, Maggie was curled up against his side, snoring gently, and Alexis was sitting opposite, watching.

Alexis.

"Ah." He grinned. "Morning."

"Morning. And shh, you'll wake Maggie."

He glanced down at the woman next to him. "Nah. Mags was never a morning person. It'll take a bomb going off, or maybe the smell of good coffee, to wake her up."

"She was up before you yesterday," Alexis said shrewdly.

"You noticed that, did you?"

"I notice a lot of things." She nodded down at the dirty plates on the table. "Did you have a good time after I went to bed?"

"Well, I would have offered to make you eggs as well, but I didn't think you'd appreciate being woken up, even by your old dad. Not with that test you've got today."

"Mmn. Thoughtful."

"Exactly."

Alexis uncurled from the chair. "You need to shower."

"Do I smell or something?"

"Or something," she agreed.

"What time is it?" he asked, extricating himself with care and laying Maggie down on the sofa. She snuffled but didn't wake.

"A litte after eight."

"Do you have any idea what time we finally went to sleep?" he asked, running his hands through his hair and following her into the hall.

"Do you?"

"Well, no. But it wasn't that long ago."

She smiled. "Are you getting old, Dad?"

"Who, me?"

"You used to stay out all night, then write all day before going clubbing again." She sighed theatrically. "You're not as young as you used to be."

"And you're a brat."

Alexis grinned. "I try." She glanced past him back to where Maggie was still sleeping. "You know, you keep doing this, you're going to have to marry her," she pointed out.

"Sorry to shatter your illusions, but if that was the case, I'd be a bigamist a few thousand times over."

"Too much information, Dad."

He headed for his bedroom, and a hot shower. "You brought it up."

"I suppose I did." She leaned on the door, watching him take fresh clothes from the wardrobe. "No, the blue one. It goes with your eyes."

"You think?" He held the shirt against himself, shrugged, then tossed it onto the bed and put the brown one back.

"So, did you and Kate solve the crime yet?"

"No. Not quite." He stopped, his forehead furrowed. "Although, come to think of it ... last night I was having this dream, and I –"

She held up a hand. "Do I want to hear any more?"

"Not that kind of dream. I admit, my dreams are usually NC-17, but I'm just lucky that way." He grinned. "Anyway, no. This was about the case. And it all fitted together neatly. I knew who'd done it, and why, and how."

"So? Who did it?"

"Damned if I can remember." He shook his head. "Although I'm pretty sure it wasn't the six foot pink rabbit."

"Rabbit?"

"I think that was me in a bunny suit."

"Did you have a fluffy white tail? Like you did for my sixth birthday party?"

He grinned at the memory. "Of course." That's what Alexis had wanted, so he'd dressed up, made himself look a fool for all her classmates. Whatever she wanted – and that hadn't changed.

"So what else was in it?" she urged, seeing him get slightly misty-eyed. "Your dream last night."

"Twins. Lots of twins." He looked surprised as some of it came back to him. "Even you had a twin."

"Hmn. Two of me."

"Even more to love," he said, smiling, then went into his bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he went, and a moment later there was the sound of the shower being switched on. "Do you want a lift to school on my way to the precinct?" he asked, above the sound of the water running.

"Yes, please. Only don't go signing any more autographs."

"Hey, they asked me! And it was only the once."

"You ruin my street cred."

He peered around the door, one eyebrow raised. "Your street cred?"

"Yes." She stuck her tongue out at him, which he reciprocated then ducked back. "Anyway, isn't Kate going to be picking you up?"

"Not this morning. If she's got any sense she'll stay at home." The water sound changed as he obviously climbed into the shower.

"So why are you going in?"

"What?"

She moved to look into the bathroom. "Why are you going in if Kate isn't?"

He slid the shower door open a little. "Because I suspect she hasn't got any sense at all, and she'll be there before I am." He glanced down at himself. "And get out of my bathroom. I'm naked."

"Dad, you remember the conversation we had about you wandering about at three in the morning?"

"And you remember my comments about Child Services?"

"Point taken." She strolled away, saying over her shoulder, "Oh, I picked up the newspaper. I think you'll want to see it."

Rick paused in the act of washing his hair, his curiosity piqued. Finishing his shower as quickly as he could, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked back into his bedroom. There, on the duvet, was the New York Times.

It wasn't exactly the headline, but it had made the front page. A photo of one of the twins, which one he wouldn't have been able to say if the caption hadn't read 'Amanda Tyler'. The article was headed up 'Body Found – Links to Jewel Theft?' and went into somewhat lurid detail about exactly how. Quickly skimming the article, Rick felt his jaw tightening.

"Dad." Alexis was back, a mug of coffee in her hand.

"Thanks." He looked up at her. "Alexis, are you okay with all this? I mean, seeing that girl like that at the Awards ..."

She gazed at him, and yet again he was struck by how adult she seemed to be, and wondered if she'd missed out on being a child because he'd never grown up.

"It was difficult, realising she was actually … you know … dead. But I've been chatting with Maggie, and … I'm fine."

"Only if you want to talk to someone professionally, if it would help –"

"Dad, honestly." She smiled. "I'm okay. And once you and Kate find this man and put him behind bars, I'll be even better."

He held out his arms and she crossed the room to him, letting herself be hugged tightly. "I never wanted you involved in this, you know that."

"I know, Dad." She closed her eyes, feeling safe. "And when I need therapy I'll let you know."

"Good."

She let go and stood back. "Now get dressed. You can't go out crime fighting in just a towel."

"I don't know. It could be quite an interesting costume."

"Mmn. Flasherman. I'll make sure I have bail ready."

His laughter followed her out of the bedroom.

---

He was right. As the doors to the elevator opened, he could see Kate leaning over Esposito as they studied something on a computer screen.

"What are you doing here?" Rick asked, his tone resigned.

"Oddly enough, I work here." She straightened up, and almost completely hid the slight wince as she did so. "What's your excuse?"

For once he didn't say what was on the tip of his tongue, didn't ask if she was okay. "So, have we got any further?"

"Not really," Esposito said, earning a glare from his boss.

Ryan walked into the squad room, half an uneaten Danish in his hand. He gestured with it. "Witnesses didn't see the driver, but put the car as a brown Ford. Or maybe a Chevy. Or a Mustang. Maybe."

"And I didn't get a good look at it," Kate said, going back to her desk.

"Fine. Next time I'll let them shoot you," Rick said, turning towards the espresso machine before remembering it was still broken. "Didn't they come by to fix that yet?"

"We've got more important things to worry about than your coffee."

One eyebrow raised. "Get out of the wrong side of someone else's bed this morning, did you?" The other eyebrow joined it. "Or did you have trouble with your neighbour again?"

She had enough of his insight. "Castle, the Captain's already had the Mayor's aide on the phone, plus the Sheikh's embassy has got in on the act, and they all want to know when we're going to be making an arrest. And all I had to tell them was that we've been chasing ghosts."

"You mean Canfield."

"The very same."

"I still say he's our man."

She glared at him. "Prove it."

"I was trying to." He dropped the newspaper on her desk. "I suppose that's what this is about."

Kate barely glanced at it. "Someone knows something."

"And so do we."

"Castle –"

"Is that why there's no mention of Michelle?"

She sighed. "The press is going to find out eventually, probably through Dominic Tyler, no matter we asked him not to. But until then we can shake the tree, see who falls out."

"Good plan."

"I think so." The phone on her desk rang, and she picked it up. "Detective Beckett."

"This is Dominic Tyler."

Kate gave a start, having only just mentioned the man a moment ago, and immediately had a mental image of the twins' grandfather as she'd last seen him, standing in his doorway in the cold, his arms wrapped around his body, watching them drive away. "Mr Tyler. What can I do for you?"

Rick's ears perked up and he moved closer so he could hear the other side of the conversation.

"I just thought … you said anything that occurred to me."

"Of course. And what did?"

There was a slight pause. "Amanda used to keep a scrapbook. All sorts of things. Cinema tickets, programmes, photos of her friends … only it's gone."

"Gone?"

"After you left yesterday, I went through her bedroom. I ... I don't know what I expected to find, but I know where Mandy kept the scrapbook. It was her pride and joy, and she always ..." He stopped, and an odd sound came over the wires.

Kate could tell he was crying, but she had to be professional. "Did Michelle know where it was kept?"

He sniffed hard. "Yes, of course she did. Why, do you think she took it?"

"We have to look into every possibility, Mr Tyler."

"Of course."

"And thank you for calling me. If there's anything else, don't hesitate."

"I won't. Detective Beckett?"

"Yes?"

"You will find the man who did this, won't you?"

Kate caught Rick's eye. "We're doing our best."

"Of course. Thank you." He hung up without saying goodbye.

"Scrap book?" Rick said softly as Kate put the phone down. "You think it might have her killer in it?"

Kate shrugged. "I think it's likely. Whoever killed Amanda Tyler ... she knew him."

"That's your gut talking."

"No, it's not." She crossed her arms. "It's experience."

He mirrored her. "Gut."

"Castle ..." She took a deep breath. "You know, this is moot. Canfield can't have killed Michelle – we know he was on stage at the Blue Cat club thanks to your friend Brock."

"What about Amanda? What was he doing when she was killed?"

Kate's eyes narrowed. "Lanie put her time of death around three days before she was found."

"_Around_ three days." He leaned on the desk and looked at her. "Vague, don't you think?"

She gazed at him, her face inscrutable, then she reached past him and picked up the phone again, dialling quickly. She only had to wait a moment before the other end picked up. "It's Kate Beckett. Is Dr Parish there?" She listened. "Then can you ask her to call me as soon as she's finished? It's about the Tyler case. Thanks." She hung up and looked at Rick. "Lanie's apparently up to her elbows in someone else's guts at the moment."

"Nice image."

"I thought you'd like it."

"Hey, Rick?" Esposito threw a wadded up ball of paper. "I think this is for you."

Rick turned around, seeing a delivery guy, barely more than a boy, still showing the signs of teenage acne on his face. "Mr Castle?"

"That's me," Rick said.

"Sign here." He handed over a clipboard, which Rick signed with a flourish then exchanged for a smallish box.

"Thank you." Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, selecting a bill. "Here."

The young man stared at the c-note. "Wow. Thanks!" He hurried off before anyone could change their mind.

"What was that?" Kate asked.

Rick quickly opened the box, dropping the plastic wrap and foam inserts into the bin. He held up a new cellphone. "Excellent," he said, smiling.

"You ordered that to be delivered here?" Kate couldn't quite believe it.

"Of course. I was pretty sure it wouldn't get stolen." He grinned wider at her then pressed the on-button, seeing the screen lighting up. "It does everything," he said, showing Esposito and Ryan. "The camera's as good as the best digital handheld, it records video as well, with sound, and it has the latest voice activation chip technology –"

"You asked for it to be delivered here?" Kate repeated.

"Well, technically, I could claim for it, since I broke the last one saving your life." He could see she was about to say something he was likely to regret, so went on quickly, "But I won't be. I just needed a replacement, so I decided on one with the latest upgrades."

"How old was the old one?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Couple of months."

She glared at him. "Are you ever going to grow up?"

He waved the phone at her. "It's a gadget, Kate. All men like gadgets. If it's got an on button or batteries, you can be pretty sure we want one."

"Really."

A mental image formed in his head, and he would have blushed if he'd been that kind of man. "Actually, I have bought one or two in my time. As gifts, you understand."

Her lips actually twitched, but she said, "If you only broke the old one last night, how did you manage to get the new one so quickly?"

Rick laughed. "My dear Kate, money talks, and when you've got a lot, it tends to shout really loudly."

"I should have known." She picked up the phone that had started to ring. "Beckett."

The medical examiner's voice was warm. "Hey, Kate. I just got your message."

"Finished doing … whatever it was you were doing?"

"Mostly. This particular victim died of a single gunshot wound to the liver, bled out, then somehow managed to impale himself on a metal railing."

Kate shook her head. "Not one of mine, I hope."

"Nope, not this time." There was a soft chuckle. "Now, what did you want me for?"

"I was wondering about –"

"Time of death?" Lanie interrupted.

Kate smiled grimly. "You're a mind reader."

"I have to be. Actually, I was going to call you. The results on Amanda Tyler came back, and I need to revise it."

"Hold on. Let me put you on speaker." Kate pressed a button. "How much?"

Lanie's voice was amplified, tinny. "It's more like five to six days."

"How come?" Rick asked.

"Oh, hey, Castle." Lanie was probably smiling. "I told you it was going to be difficult to be precise, and wherever she was kept was cold."

"Kept?" Kate was making notes.

"It turns out rigor had just started to set in before she was crammed into that case."

"How long, Lanie?"

"If she was kept cold – and I mean cold, not frozen, there's no sign of cell disruption – then rigor could have been put off as long as maybe ten hours."

"So she could have been dumped anything up to six days ago."

"That's my opinion."

Kate took a deep breath. "Could she have been dead as long as a week?"

There was a pause. "Possibly. Outside chance. Kept cold, away from … yes, possible."

"Damn."

"Why?"

"Nothing. Anything else?"

"That trace I found inside her bra? It's spray-on skin."

"What?"

"It's used to cover up minor cuts, abrasions."

"So he could have –" Rick began, but she waved him to silence.

"Is that it?"

"Oh, no. You know I save the best 'til last. We've managed to isolate the poison that killed Michelle Tyler. It was Tetrodotoxin."

"What?"

"Puffer fish poison. It can take as little as a few minutes to kill, especially in the concentration we found in Michelle's body. Numbness, sweating, rapid heart rate … then the diaphragm gets paralysed and it's all over. Basically she suffocated."

"And it was definitely on that needle?"

"Definitely."

"How much would it take?"

"Well, a puffer fish contains enough poison to kill thirty adult males. Less than one half a milligram. Anyone collect rare fish that you know of?"

"Not at the moment." She waved at Ryan, who nodded and immediately began compiling a list of possible sellers. "Thanks, Lanie."

"No problem. Just let me know when you catch this maniac, will you? No-one should go around doing this sort of thing to little girls."

Kate hung up then looked at Rick. "Puffer fish."

"And spray-on skin. Don't forget that. Why would anyone need to use spray-on skin, unless maybe they'd cut themselves playing the bass?"

"Which lets Canfield out even more. He's far too experienced. And I don't recall seeing any fish tank in his apartment, did you?"

Rick sat down, pushing back on the chair until he was balanced on only two legs. "We didn't exactly search."

"No." Kate wished she could scratch it, the itch that had been growing between her shoulder blades for some time. It meant something was very wrong, and she couldn't help feeling like she was being manipulated somehow.

"You know it's what some people think makes zombies, don't you?" Rick said, leaning back even further. "All the appearances of being dead, but aware of everything."

"You don't think –"

"No." He let the chair legs come down with a crash. "Lanie knows better than that. And the girl was dead. I was just making conversation."

"Well, don't." She began tapping her pen on her notepad, and barely registered the phone ringing again.

"We need to speak to him again, don't we?" Rick asked, his face taking on an aspect she'd seen before. It was a blend of appealing to her suspicious nature, crossed with a desire to see the bad guy put away as much as she did.

"We still don't have proof."

"Then at least –"

"Boss." Ryan had his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "It's him."

Kate turned. "Who?"

"Canfield."

Her eyes widened, and she reached for the phone. "Speak of the devil."

Ryan shook his head. "No. He's _here_. Downstairs. Apparently he has something he needs to tell you. In person."


	12. Chapter 12

"Now that's a coincidence," Rick said, watching Kate's face as she got together a file. "Admit it. We're talking about Canfield, and here he is, wanting to speak to you."

"It's not a coincidence. It's …"

"What?" He raised his eyebrows in query. "Luck?"

"I don't believe in luck."

His mouth opened in surprise. "That's so ... Last time we played poker you –" She held up a finger, daring him to continue, and he just smirked. "Then what do you call it?"

"Opportune."

"You're thinking like a writer."

"Don't be insulting."

"You write in your spare time."

"I don't have any spare time," Kate responded, then internally berated herself for being on the defensive.

"You should let me see it. It might be good."

She was saved from having to hit him, or maybe tweak his nose again, by Ryan coming back into the squad room.

"He's here," the detective said. "Interview one."

"Good." Kate drew herself up, her armour firmly buckled back on. "Let's see what he has to say, shall we?"

Rick followed her closely. "You know, if Amanda was killed a week ago, and Canfield's bass case was stolen a week ago –"

"Maybe it wasn't stolen at all," she finished, shaking her head. "I get it, okay? Now, can we stop wasting time?"

The smirk turned to smug. "See? You _are_ thinking like me."

As they entered the interview room, Rick was limping slightly.

"Mr Canfield." Kate barely smiled as she sat down, feeling Rick take the seat next to her.

"Detective Beckett." Canfield's face was warm, open.

"What can I do for you?"

"It's more … what I can do for you." He looked apologetic. "I … have to confess something."

Rick leaned forward, eager to hear this man admit he'd planned the whole thing.

Kate suppressed the urge to give Castle one of her looks, or possibly just shoot him and get it over with, instead saying encouragingly, "Go on."

"I … didn't tell you the entire truth. But only because I didn't know I had to."

Rick was bemused. This was about the oddest confession he'd ever heard. "You didn't know?"

In response Canfield slid something from his pocket, unfolding it before laying it flat on the table. It was the newspaper article on Amanda Tyler, torn from the front page of the New York Times. "This," he said.

Rick tensed again.

"This is an ongoing investigation," Kate said slowly. "Are you involved?"

"I know her. Knew her, I suppose I should say."

Rick wanted so badly to turn to Kate and say _I told you so_, but he held his tongue.

"Can you be more specific?" Kate asked.

"I saw the photo in the paper this morning, and I … well, honestly I did wonder whether to call you, tell you they had the wrong information, but I decided I'd better come in person."

"The wrong information."

"Yes. The woman … well, the _girl_ in the picture … her name's Michelle, not Amanda. I knew her."

"How, Mr Canfield?"

"Juilliard. She was a student, I did some teaching there last summer, and she came to a few of my lectures." He smiled sadly. "I heard her play. She was an excellent pianist, if a little lacking in passion. But she could have been one of the greats if she'd applied herself."

"And you dated?" Rick put in, his face for once almost expressionless.

Canfield almost laughed. "Oh, no. Nothing like that. She wasn't my type, Mr Castle."

"Really?" Rick slid his eyes in an almost insulting fashion over Canfield's expensive coat, his silk shirt – dark green, this time – showing under what looked to be a handmade suit jacket. "You prefer boys?"

Canfield gazed at him, unblinking. "I may be an artist, Mr Castle, but I'm not gay."

Kate put her elbows on the table. "Then what is your type?"

"I prefer a real woman. Not a child." He made it perfectly clear he thought Kate was a most definite woman, looking her over just as thoroughly as Rick had him.

Kate was too professional to react. "And when did you last see her?"

"I've never met Amanda." He held up a hand, forestalling Kate's response. "But the last time I saw Michelle was probably four or five months ago. I gave a couple of lectures at the beginning of the semester, but I had to give it up. What with the Quartet, and the orchestra, I didn't really have the time."

"I'm sorry to hear that." She glanced down at her notes, as if refreshing her memory. "Can I ask what you were doing the evening after your double bass was stolen? Which was, what, just over a week ago?"

Canfield nodded. "The Saturday before last. I played the concert at the Lincoln Centre with my spare bass, as I'm sure I mentioned, then I went to the Blue Cat. I was there for a couple of hours, did a couple of sets with the boys, then went home."

"Anyone who can vouch for that?"

"At the club, of course. At home … Detective, I don't have a permanent significant other, live-in or otherwise." He looked as if he was about to say something else, then paused.

"Yes, Mr Canfield?"

"Was it my bass case?" he asked finally, his hands tightly clenched. "The article, it said … a double bass case. And you've been asking me about the theft. Was it mine?"

Kate gazed at him. "Yes, it was."

"My God." He sat back, licking his lips. "No wonder you think I'm involved."

"Do I?"

"Of course you do. Any sane person would. It's just such a massive coincidence otherwise."

"They do happen," Kate said. "Mr Canfield, can I see your hands?"

He looked at her, barely a twitch of an eyebrow marking his confusion. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Call it a hunch."

Canfield didn't move. "Do I need a lawyer?"

"Not unless you don't show me your hands."

Suddenly he smiled. "Of course. No problem." He laid them flat on the table, his polished nails shining in the light.

"Turn them over, please."

"Sure."

Kate and Rick leaned forward, staring.

"May I?" she inquired, reaching out.

"Go ahead. It's not every day a beautiful woman wants to stroke my hands."

Rick shot him a glare, but watched as Kate used her pen to press against Canfield's fingertips.

"Nothing," she murmured.

"What were you expecting to find?" Canfield asked, honestly curious.

"Evidence."

"Of what?" He took his hands back, placing them in his lap. "Look, I've seen enough cop shows to know all about what your forensic people can find under fingernails. But as you can see, I had a manicure this morning. Not for any nefarious reason, I can assure you. It's a regular weekly booking. Check if you like. _Luigi's_, down on 48th." He smiled slightly. "A man who plays a stringed instrument for a living has to take care of his hands."

"Are you willing to make a statement to that effect?"

"What, about the manicure?" He smiled. "Of course I will. And anything else you like. In fact, I swear I had nothing to do with Michelle's death, despite it being my bass case she was found in. The truth is I was playing at the Blue Cat on both Saturday nights. On my brother's life. If I had a brother."

Kate looked at him strangely, then made a note in the file, saying, "Thank you, Mr Canfield. I'll get that typed up and you can sign it."

"Can I do that later? I have an appointment." He shrugged. "We've called a rehearsal at the Blue Cat for this afternoon. After last Saturday, I … well, I wasn't playing at my best. I think we're getting stale, so we're going to try a few different things."

"How long does it normally take you, trying these new things?" Rick asked, adding, at Canfield's curious look, "Research. For my next book."

"Ah. Well, probably the rest of the afternoon. I have a meeting with my agent at five, so I'll probably go straight there."

Kate stood up, and the two men followed. "If you can pop back in tomorrow, the statement will be ready waiting for you." She stepped to the door and opened it. "Mr Canfield."

"Thanks."

Kate waited until he'd passed her, then said, "Oh, Mr Canfield? One more thing."

Canfield turned, amused. "Isn't that what Columbo always used to say? Just one more thing? Then he'd proceed to explain exactly what the villain had done, and how, and without a shred of proper evidence?" He held out his hands, wrists together. "Will you be putting the handcuffs on me?"

"Not yet." She looked him directly in the eye. "Did Michelle ever talk about a man named Andy? Or Andrew?"

Canfield thought for a moment. "Well, since I didn't really know Michelle, apart from perhaps to say hello to at lectures or concerts, I doubt she'd have felt inclined to impart personal knowledge like that. Who was he, a boyfriend or something?"

"Just checking," Kate said, smiling in that way of hers where it didn't reach her eyes at all. "And thanks again. I'm sure you can see yourself out."

"Yes, of course, no problem. And if you need any other assistance, please don't hesitate to call me. Any time." He gave a slight, ironic bow and headed out of the squad room, pulling on a pair of fine leather gloves as he went.

"You didn't tell him not to leave town," Rick murmured, watching Canfield get into the elevator and be whisked away.

"I doubt he's going anywhere."

"And Brock was right. That man needs treatment."

"What are you talking about now?" Kate asked in resignation, staring at him.

"Hardly the same person we spoke to before. Much more friendly, in an oily, confident sort of way."

"Perhaps he'd had a bad day before."

"Or maybe he's schizophrenic. Perhaps he does things and doesn't remember."

"He's not a character in a book, Castle. That sort of thing only happens in fiction."

"No, it doesn't. I did some research for _Storm Chaser_ and –"

She rounded on him. "He was playing at the Blue Cat last Saturday while the diamonds were being stolen and Michelle Tyler killed. I'm sure we're going to be able to confirm he was at the Blue Cat the Saturday before too, when Amanda might have died."

"Might. Could have been later. You heard Lanie. She was pushing it being Saturday."

"And we'll check into his movements up to and including the latest she can give us. So unless you can come up with something more concrete …"

"He knew about Amanda."

"No, he said he knew Michelle."

"Later on, Kate. After he said the newspaper got it wrong. He said he'd never met Amanda." Rick leaned closer. "First he suggests there's only one Tyler girl, then he blatantly admits he knows Michelle had a sister."

"Hardly blatantly." But Rick's words had struck a chord.

"Check. Check the tape. See what he said."

"I don't need to."

"And you didn't tell him about Amanda and Michelle being twins."

Her lips curved. "You know me, Castle. I like to keep some things close to my chest."

"And such a nice chest it is too." His eyes dropped to where her cleavage would have been if she hadn't been wearing that red sweater of hers.

She looked at him, just a look, but one he knew all too well, then headed for her desk.

He grinned. Sometimes she made it just so easy.

"Boss." Esposito was waiting. "Dr Parish called again while you were interviewing Canfield. She got the rest of the tox results back. Michelle Tyler had the remains of a sedative in her blood." He checked his notes on the pad on his desk. "Benzodiazipine. Usually prescribed for sleeplessness, but in alcohol has pretty much the same effect as Rohypnol, and a lot easier to get hold of."

"Did she say how much?"

"Pretty high concentration. Probably more than one dose."

"So she was kept somewhere unconscious," Kate mused. "Not exactly ground-breaking news."

"Maybe at Canfield's place," Rick suggested.

"Castle, stop." She had had enough. "You're obsessed. Anyone would think you had the hots for the man."

Esposito and Ryan exchanged a grin. Sometimes it was just fun to watch their boss fight it out with the writer.

"There's just something about him," Rick said. "I mean, odd thing to say. Swearing on his brother's life." Something was niggling at him, kicking him in the hindbrain trying to get his attention, and he almost had it, wriggling just beyond his fingertips, something to do with the newspaper article … then Captain Montgomery called out from his office doorway.

"Kate."

"Sir?" She left Castle to his thoughts, interrupted though they were, and followed Montgomery into his inner sanctum.

"Can you give me an update?"

"On the murders or the robbery?"

"Both."

Kate briefly went over what they knew about the Tylers, which wasn't much. "There's no obvious suspects, at least so far," she added. "And with both girls dead, there doesn't seem to be any close friends they might have spoken to."

"What about the robbery? Did we get anything from the Waldorf's security cameras?" Montgomery asked.

"No, sir." Kate almost sighed. "The ones on that floor all went down at the same time, only no-one noticed because of what was going on at the Awards."

"The diversion."

"Yes. That and the fact that there were no forced locks …"

"An inside job?"

"I'm getting backgrounds on all the relevant employees, but it's going to be a long haul to go through them all."

"Well, do what you can. If you need more men, ask. Can't say I'll be able to do anything about it, but ask anyway."

Kate's lips twitched. "I will."

Montgomery nodded towards Rick, who was fiddling with his new phone. "Is he helping?"

"Honestly …" _Tell the truth, Katie_, she heard an inner voice saying, sounding just like her mother used to. _And shame the devil_. "Yes. I'm afraid he is."

This time it was Montgomery who smiled. "I know how it galls you to admit that." Then he was back to business. "Just find the bastards."

"I will, sir." Kate walked out of the office, pausing just outside the door.

Rick was sitting with his legs stretched out and feet up on her desk, two phones on his lap. As she watched he removed the SIM card from one, tossing the carcase into the trash bin before sliding the card into the new cellphone and pushing the cover back into place. Rolling it over in his fingers, he grinned widely.

Turning her back carefully, she spoke to Ryan, the only member of her team in sight. "What do we know about Canfield?" she asked quietly, a slight dint between her eyebrows.

Ryan turned his notepad back a few pages. "Merrick Canfield. Thirty-one years old. Single. Only child of Peter and Candice Canfield. Rich, thanks to daddy and mommy both now deceased. Musician. Pays his taxes on time, never gets a parking ticket ... squeaky clean."

"Too clean?"

"Not even a jaywalking caution."

Kate thought for a moment, then said, "Look into Canfield's background."

Ryan was surprised. "I thought we were sure he couldn't have been involved. He was on stage, remember?"

"Yes, but that was then, this is now." She subconsciously touched her arm, barely making contact with the bandage through her sweater.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, rolling his pen between his fingers and smiling like a shark smelling blood in the water. "Castle got to you, didn't he?"

"No, he didn't."

"Only he's been saying –"

Kate interrupted, glancing over her shoulder, but Castle was now talking on his new phone. "Only nothing. There's just … something about Canfield doesn't add up."

"How deep?"

"I don't want you searching the man's place, but see what you can dig up. Discreetly."

"That's my middle name."

"I thought your middle name was –"

He held up a hand. "Told to you in confidence."

Kate smiled. "Just see what you can find." She turned back to her desk, but the chair was empty. "Where's Castle?"

Esposito sauntered up, a file in his hands. "He just left. Said he had somewhere to be."

"Did he say where that was?"

"No. Just that he'd arranged for a new espresso machine to be delivered, and that you shouldn't wait up." At her look, he added quickly, "His words."

"I thought you didn't want him around," Ryan put in.

"I don't. But right now I'd rather he was where I can keep an eye on him."

---

Snow had finally begun to fall, individual flakes swirling down and settling for only a few seconds before vanishing as Rick drove through the traffic, with somewhat less than half of his mind on avoiding accidents and pedestrians and the rest of it on Merrick Canfield.

The man was guilty. Guilty as sin. One eyebrow raised. That was actually a good book title – _Guilty As Sin_. Probably already been used, but that didn't mean he couldn't keep it on the back burner of his mind. Come to think of it, there was a film he recalled, something tawdry and … anyway, he'd better keep his attention on the job in hand.

He couldn't say why he thought Canfield was behind this. All of it, even the jewel heist. And that galled him, more than he cared to admit. It was like writer's block, only worse. If he didn't get around it, more people might get hurt. People like Kate. It might only have been a graze, but a few inches to the right and he could have been having to write an obituary, not finishing the first Nikki Heat novel.

Perhaps what he needed to do was plan it out. Like he was doing for the next book, lay out all the things he knew, all the things he thought he knew, and the even bigger pile of things he didn't know but was happy to make a guess at, and see whether he could join them up. Maggie used a digital tape recorder, one he'd bought for her a year or so back as a birthday gift. She'd just talk into it, mostly crap, but occasionally a nugget of pure gold came out of all the dross. Perhaps he should borrow it, see if he could talk himself into the solution.

A truck hooted at him, and he realised the light had gone green. Waving over his shoulder he moved off, taking the next right and pulling up.

Kate couldn't do anything, wouldn't, not without proof. But he was a private citizen, and if he got caught, well ... what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

He was about to get out of the car when his phone rang, an annoying trilling that he was going to have to change as soon as he had time. He still hadn't quite figured out all the options, and didn't know who was on the other end, so as he pressed the answer button he said, in his most mellifluous tone, "You have reached the phone of the rich, successful and incredibly handsome Rick Castle. If you're female, between the ages of twenty and –"

"Rick?" It was Maggie.

"Hi, Mags."

"Where are you?"

"Sitting in my car. How about you?"

"On my way to the precinct. I was going to buy you lunch, as a thank you for last night. And an apology for my behaviour."

"I don't recall you doing anything you needed to apologise over. Unless you did something while I was asleep. Should I feel violated in some way?"

She laughed lightly. "You know what I mean."

"Mags, there's nothing to be sorry about. You care about me. Which is nice. And you don't what anything to happen to me. Which is nicer. And very appropriate."

"Idiot," she said good-naturedly. "So ... lunch?"

"Sorry, no can do. I have ... something to do."

There was a pause, and he could imagine her face, the puzzled look turning to one of ... if not horror, then something rapidly approaching it.

"What are you up to, Rick?" she asked slowly.

"Nothing."

"I know that tone. It's the one you used when you persuaded me there was no need to worry about the Dean's dog, that it was only a little thing, and it turned out to be a damn great Dobermann with teeth like headstones. I've still got the scars, Rick."

"It was a love nip, nothing more."

"Rick ..."

"I just ..." He had to tell her, he knew that. Just in case something went wrong. "I want to take a look around Canfield's apartment. See what I can find."

"Is Kate with you?"

"No. Just me."

"Then don't be stupid!" Maggie was getting angry. "If the man is a double murderer, do you think he'd baulk at having to get rid of another body? Damn it, Rick, he already tried to shoot you!"

"And he's not going to be here. He's got rehearsal at –"

"Here? You mean you're already at his apartment?"

"Sitting outside." He glanced up at the tall glass building, the top floors disappearing into the grey gloom of falling snow.

"What's the address?"

"What ... why?"

"Because I'm going to come there and stop you!"

"I don't want to be stopped. Mags, the man is guilty. I just need to prove it."

"And get yourself killed in the process!"

"That isn't actually part of the plan."

"You have a plan? An actual plan? You're not just going into this like you do everything else, like a bull at a gate?"

"Well –"

"No. You stay put. I'll come and get you."

"I don't need my hand holding."

"More like your head examining."

"The article was torn, not cut, Mags." It had come to him, when he was sitting at Kate's desk, seeing how she kept things neat, ordered.

"What?" Now she wasn't just angry, but bewildered too.

"Canfield is a control freak, like Kate only a lot more so. Probably OCD. He'd never tear a story out of a paper, he'd cut it. Carefully, making sure it was dead square."

"Rick, please, I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not sure either, but I think there's two of them."

"You're not making sense."

"I know, and I'm sorry. But, Mags, I'll be home in time for supper. Just make sure there's a nice hot meal on the table, and I'll see you soon." He flicked the off button before she could do more than take a breath to berate him again, and smiled. He knew Maggie, better than perhaps she knew herself. If she did get to him, she'd only want to be part of the action, and he didn't her to be put in harm's way, any more than Kate. Not that there was going to be any harming going on, of course.

He slid the phone inside his coat and climbed out of the car, snowflakes immediately sticking to his hair and eyelashes. Besides, this was his gig. After all, he'd signed his life away – the least he could do was enjoy it.


	13. Chapter 13

The main door to the apartment building opened, and a flurry of snow preceded a figure stepping inside. Harrison, the guard on duty, looked up, a smile creasing his dark face. "Mr Castle. It's good to see you again."

Rick smiled, shaking his shoulders to remove the dusting of snow on his overcoat. "Hi."

"Were you here to see Mr Canfield? Only he's not at home."

"No, not business this time." Rick approached the desk, aware of the security cameras on the walls above him, covering every inch of the lobby. "This time it's purely pleasure. I was just impressed with the building," he said, leaning his elbow on the raised edge at the front of the desk. "I've been looking for somewhere else to live ... you know how it is, you get bored stuck in the same rooms after a while, and you need some place new, some place different. And I was wondering whether there were any vacancies here."

Harrison nodded slowly. "There's a couple. Not many people can afford the kind of rates that get charged, not in times like these, so there are two apartments I'm aware of, and Mrs Brannigan is talking about moving out to the Hamptons, to be closer to her sister. She's got Alzheimers."

"That's sad. I can't even imagine what I'd do if I began to lose my faculties."

"Me neither, but as a writer it would be worse for you. Not being able to imagine things."

"Exactly." Rick smiled and leaned over, patting the man on the arm. "Exactly, my friend."

"I can't let you up to see them, of course," Harrison went on. "The empty apartments, I mean. Not without the agent accompanying you."

"No, of course. And I wouldn't want to get you into any kind of trouble." He looked so open and honest, even the most sceptical of souls would have believed him.

"I can give you the name and telephone number, if you like."

"That would be good. But there are a couple of things you can answer for me, though."

"If I can."

Rick tapped the book in front of the guard. "You log everyone in?"

"Every single person, in and out," Harrison agreed. "Visitor, tenant, workman ... they all come through me and I write them down."

"You don't have it computerised?"

"No. That's the owner's choice, too. When I took the job I told them I could handle anything electronic, but they said that was too easy to alter. Hard copy, that's what they told me." He showed Rick, lifting the page. "See? It's carbonised, so there's always a duplicate. If I make a mistake, I can't just rub it out."

"But you don't make mistakes, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't. In my line of work, you can't afford to."

"Which is good for me," Rick said, explaining, "My mother lives with me. She's a dear, but almost an invalid, and I have to be out a lot, so I need to know she'd be safe." He sounded so sincere even he could almost see her, sitting in her wheelchair, martini in one hand, a silver fox by the collar in the other ...

"That's nice. That you look after your ma, that is. Too many folks nowadays don't know how to take care of the people who brought them into this world."

"Isn't that the case." He lowered his voice. "But then, I'm also a red-blooded male, and I do occasionally have ... ladies visit." He didn't quite wink. "And being something of a celebrity, there are some things I really don't want the press to find out." What, he couldn't quite imagine, although he was sure there were some dark things in his past that he didn't want the bright light of day shone on. If he was given a week or so to think about it.

"I don't understand."

Rick sighed inwardly. "There might be visitors I don't want noted. Or seen." He glanced up at the camera above the desk.

"Oh. Those kind."

"Yes. Those kind." At least he hadn't had to spell it out, although it was a close run thing.

Harrison looked contrite. "Well, if they come through the front, then they go in the book."

"Through the front. So there's another way in?"

"No, now, I didn't say that."

"Of course not." Rick paused. "So how are you liking my latest book?"

Harrison was confused by the apparent change of direction. "It's good. Great, so far. I'm about half way through."

"You know, I'm writing a new one. First in a series. A female main character."

"Nikki Heat." Harrison leaned forward. "I saw it on your website."

Rick had to grin. "I knew you were a fan."

"Always have been. I've got all your books. _Storm Fall _is the only one I've got signed, though." He chuckled. "I was going to go to one of your signings once, but I had to work, and by the time I got off, the store was closed."

"That wasn't fair."

"That's life."

"I suppose." Rick made like he was pondering something, then said, "You know, I have a spare set of first editions at my home. And if I do move, well, I might have to find somewhere else for them to live. Somewhere I'd know they'd be well-looked after. Particularly if they were individually signed to the person who was doing the looking after." He watched as the penny dropped.

"You'd do that?"

"I would. Besides, I'm always looking for characters for my novels. And this building is so unique, I wouldn't be surprised if it turned up in one. Along with its day guard."

It was too much. Harrison made sure nobody was listening, which wasn't difficult since the lobby was empty apart from them, and then said quietly, "There _is_ another way in. It's meant to be a secret, but if the tenants ask, I have to tell them. And you're thinking of becoming one, so I suppose it won't harm that much."

"Of course it won't." Rick smiled. "So where is it?"

---

Kate was beginning to see double. Every time she looked at one of the employee files, the face would stare back and laugh at her. Or so it seemed. And then having to check them through the database ... she'd been right when she told Montgomery it was going to take a long time to account for them all, and there was still this prickling feeling at the back of her neck that something wasn't right.

Maybe it was because her shadow wasn't there. Wherever he'd gone, Castle still hadn't returned, and it was beginning to bug her. Not that she wanted him around, and it was worse if she was starting to feel odd when he wasn't, but ... there was always a 'but'. _But_ she wanted to know where he was. _But _he made her think twice about some things she'd always taken for granted. _But_ he could bring a fresh eye to the evidence, and suggest something so outrageous that it might just be true. And then make her feel like maybe it had been her idea in the first place.

He was wrong in this case, though. Canfield wasn't their man. He couldn't be. The only evidence against him was circumstantial, and what with the unshakeable alibi he had ... There it was, that prickling again.

She tossed the latest file on the finished stack and looked across at Esposito. "Anything?" she asked.

"_Nada_." He leaned back and stretched. "You?"

"Not a thing." She dropped her head between her shoulders, trying to rotate the ache out of them. "We'll get there."

He was impressed by her determination. "You think Ryan's doing any better?" His colleague was looking through hours of footage from various surveillance cameras, traffic cameras, any kind of camera that might give them an inkling as to what happened.

"I'm sure we'd hear if he had." Her phone rang, and she picked it up. "Beckett."

"It's Maggie Maguire." There was traffic noise in the background, and she sounded like she was slightly out of breath.

"Miss Maguire." Kate tried not to let any resentment show in her voice. "What can I do for you?"

"You can stop Rick doing something incredibly stupid."

"And what would that be?"

"Breaking into Merrick Canfield's apartment."

"What?"

"He's at Canfield's building, and he says he's going in to look around."

Kate closed her eyes. "Is he insane?"

"I don't know. I think, maybe a little. He's convinced Canfield is involved, and since you won't believe him, he –"

"It's not that I don't believe him," Kate interrupted, and realised, perhaps for the first time, that she just might. "We don't have the evidence."

"Well, he's not taking that as an answer." The traffic note changed, as if she'd entered a building. "He said something about the article being torn, not cut. Does that mean anything to you?"

"What art ... wait a minute." When Canfield had gone, she'd realised he'd left the New York Times article on Amanda Tyler in the interview room, and she'd picked it up, put it somewhere. "Hang on." She lifted up the files in her tray, finally snagging the one she wanted. Opening it, she saw the article, lying on top. Torn, as Rick had apparently noticed, not cut.

"Do you have it?" Maggie was asking.

"Yes. Just ..." She was seeing Canfield's apartment in her mind's eye, everything in its place, not a scrap of anything lying around. And she'd seen the look on Canfield's face when Rick had deliberately spilled coffee into the tray. "I'll call him. Make him leave, before he gets into too much trouble."

"Too much trouble? If he's right, he might get hurt, possibly even die!" Maggie was getting more and more upset. "And I don't want that. And I don't really think you want that to happen either."

"Miss Maguire -"

"Boss!" It was Ryan, sticking his head through the open door. "You need to see this."

She nodded, holding up one finger. _Give me a minute_, she was saying, even as she spoke into the phone again. "Miss Maguire ... Maggie ... thanks for telling me. Now go home and let me deal with this."

"No, I –"

Kate hung up and looked at Esposito. "Chase Canfield's history. Castle was right. The man we met at the apartment wouldn't have torn the article out. Something is very wrong. And try and get him on the phone."

"Who, Canfield?"

"No, Castle."

"You got it, boss."

She followed Ryan around to one of the other offices. "So what am I looking at?" she asked, peering at the screen in front of one of their techs. The image was of a street, something like a plaza, somewhere she thought she should know.

"CCTV footage from outside the Lincoln Centre the day Canfield said his bass was stolen. We don't get a perfect view, but …watch."

People passed to and fro, then a man appeared in the corner, hailing a cab.

"What the …" Kate leaned forward. "Back it up." The tech did as he was told. "Now slowly forward. And can you zoom in?"

"Some. The picture gets too grainy the closer I get, but …" He manipulated a roller ball. "How's that?"

The image enlarged, juddered enough to make the watchers feel a little seasick, then steadied.

"Perfect." Kate studied the picture. "Well, well. Merrick Canfield."

Ryan checked his notes. "In his statement he said he never left the building. Just went for something to eat, and when he came back the bass was gone. But that's not everything," he added, tapping the tech on the shoulder. "Brian, forward it."

Brian nodded, and the image zoomed out a little again, and the time clock in the corner of the screen began running forwards. A cab pulled up, and Merrick Canfield opened the door, about to get in.

"Hold it," Ryan ordered. He looked up at Kate. "See it?"

"See what?" Maggie asked from the doorway, her face flushed from running from the elevator. Apparently the building she'd entered was the precinct house.

"You shouldn't be in here," Brian, the tech, said, pointing to the sign. "It's off limits to -"

Maggie interrupted him. "What? What do you see?"

Kate straightened up slowly. "Merrick Canfield. Getting into a cab. With what looks suspiciously like a double bass case."

"The one he said was stolen," Ryan added.

Esposito ran in, pushing past Maggie. "Boss, you are not going to believe this. I just got the information on Canfield's background. He was a twin."

Kate stared at him. "What?"

"His brother was kidnapped, aged two. The parents paid the ransom, but the kid was never returned. Everyone assumed something had gone wrong, the boy was killed, and he was declared dead seven years later."

"More twins," Kate muttered.

"Oh, it gets better. The dead twin's name was Andrew."

"He's not dead," Maggie said, stepping forward. "It's the only thing that makes any sense. If Andrew is still alive, somehow he found Merrick ... and they've been playing everyone for fools."

"And Castle's walking right into the middle of it all." Kate hurried to her desk. "Call for a warrant. This should be enough if Judge Markoway isn't feeling too pedantic, then get someone to bring it to Canfield's building." She saw Ryan pick up the phone but was already taking her gun from the drawer and sliding it into its holster. "Did you get hold of Castle?"

Esposito shook his head even as he was shrugging into his jacket. "Only some kind of crazy recorded message."

"That was him," Maggie said tensely, her arms wrapped around herself. "He did it to me."

"Well he didn't answer when I spoke," Esposito said.

Kate grabbed her coat. "We'll try again on the way."

Maggie stepped forward. "I'm coming with you."

"Oh, no, you're not. You're a civilian. I can't let you –"

"Rick's a civilian! And he goes with you all the time!"

"He signed a waver. Besides, if ..." Kate stopped, picking up on the absolute and honest distress of the other woman. "Maggie, go home. Stay with Martha and Alexis. As soon as we know anything, I'll call. I promise."

"Warrant's on its way," Ryan called.

Kate put her hand on Maggie's arm. "Please. I can't be worrying about you too."

There was a tight silence for a moment, then Maggie nodded. "Call."

"I will." Kate nodded just once, the understanding between them clear as crystal, then ran out of the squad room.

---

Harrison had been right. The entrance to the back stairs, in the corner of the underground car park, looked like just the maintenance doorway it was posted up as. It was locked, of course, but that wasn't too much of a problem. Odd, that with all that security at the front, the builders only used a simple tumbler lock at the back. Even a child could get in. Well, a child with a set of professional lock picks. Rick smiled as he rolled the black velvet up and slid it back into his pocket, and mentally thanked the man who'd taught him several years ago.

"Now, Ricky, don't you go doing anything you shouldn't with it," Norman, aka 'Barney' Rubble had said. "I'm showing you this in good faith, just because I like you."

"And because I'm paying you."

"That too."

"It's research, Barney. If I don't get Derrick Storm out of the locked room, it's going to be a short book."

"Yeah, well. Just don't get caught being illegal."

He never had. Well, maybe borderline illegal, but nothing like he was doing now. And as far as he was concerned, this was justified. Checking the car park once more, Rick slid through the door and started up the stairs.

Damn, but he needed to take more exercise, he considered, as he puffed his way past the fifth floor. Playing all those games with Alexis apparently wasn't enough, nor was chasing Kate all over the city. Perhaps he should actually use the family gym membership he paid out for every month, instead of just hoping it worked like osmosis. The only times he'd been in there was during the first week, when he'd pulled something on the rowing machine. She was twenty-eight, brunette, and apparently wanting to get into acting.

He grinned, remembering that hot, tempestuous, passionate July weekend, and wondered if the hotel they'd stayed at had forgiven the broken nightstand yet.

Here it was. The penthouse. The little roll of picks did their work again, and he stepped through into Merrick Canfield's apartment.

It took a moment for him to orient himself, but then he realised he was in the kitchen area, looking towards the huge windows and the view of a snowy Manhattan. He listened for a moment, trying to gauge if anyone was around, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat slowly returning to normal and the slight hum of the heating system. And his phone ringing.

Tugging it from his pocket he glared at it, then pressed the button. "This is Richard Castle. I'm sorry, but I'm not available right now. But if you'd like to leave your name, number and vital statistics, I'll get back to you." He paused, then whistled a single, high tone.

"Castle? Damn it, Castle, are you there?" It was Esposito. "Look, if you are, don't do anything. We're coming to you. Just stay away from Canfield, okay? Castle? Shit." The phone went dead.

Rick had to smile. Maggie must have persuaded Kate he was right. The smile faded a little. Except Kate was going to be mad, and she would probably take that out on him by arresting him. And he could only rely on so many 'get out of jail free' cards from the Mayor. Better be looking around for the proof he needed.

Thumbing the phone to silent vibrate – something he _had_ managed to figure out – Rick thrust it back into his pocket as he paced through the main living area, but once again nothing was out of place. There was no conveniently lipstick-stained cup in the sink, or illicit item of ladies lingerie peeking from under a cushion. He even scraped through the ashes of the fire, sending a faint smell of pine into the air, but there was no trace of anything untoward.

He took a deep breath and looked around. Ah. The master bedroom. That was a distinct possibility.

Standing just inside the door he let his eyes roam the room. Lots of brown leather, framed pictures ... in fact it was a lot like his own, and he made another mental note to redecorate. At least his didn't look like it had been created in one fell swoop, each individual item put in place because the designer decided, not because it was wanted or needed. No photos, either, not of family or friends. Tidy, of course. Exceptionally so. A place for everything and everything in its place. Totally what he'd expected.

Except for the large aquarium against the far wall. Small fish, some with big eyes and an almost human expression on their faces, swam silently backwards and forwards through the reeds, darting through the empty portholes of the sunken galleon in the corner, endlessly moving from left to right and back again.

Rick stared at them, almost hypnotised as he moved closer. He had no idea what puffer fish looked like, but he'd bet the entire proceeds from his next book those little bastards swimming around in the water were exactly that.

"See, Kate," he murmured. "Told you so."

Quelling the impulse to call her and gloat, he instead took a couple of photos with his cellphone, the flash making one of the small fish expand until he thought it was going to explode.

He grinned, making sure that one was in the frame of the last shot. "Gotcha."

An open doorway beckoned, and he walked through into the ensuite bathroom. Pulling the light cord, he wasn't surprised to see it spotless, but this time his interest lay in the cabinet over the sink. Shaving cream, a cut-throat razor – perhaps being a musician meant having a steady hand – next to an antiseptic wand. Okay, maybe not that steady. A box of condoms ... maybe he got lucky occasionally. And a bottle of pills.

Rick lifted them out, reading the label. 'Nitrados', it said, prescribed by an upmarket doctor and filled at a local pharmacy. 'One to be taken at night when required. Warning – do not take with alcohol. In case of overdose call 911.' He turned it a little, reading the active ingredient. _Benzodiazipine_.

He shook it, then checked inside. Almost empty, and the scrip had only been written two weeks before.

For a long moment Rick just stared at the plastic container. Here it was, everything Kate needed to go after Canfield, and yet none of it was hidden. It was as if the man knew the police didn't have the evidence for a search warrant, so he hadn't bothered to dispose of it. That spoke of a blinkered, controlled mind.

Once again he took a photo, just in case, then shuddered as something walked over his grave. Putting the bottle back, he closed the door, catching sight of his own reflection, his expression grim. He needed now to get outside into the fresh, cold air, to let it blow away the taste of death from his throat.

Turning off the light he glanced at the aquarium again, something niggling at him. One of the fish swam to the bottom, causing some of the sand to swirl up into a vortex before settling back again.

"It can't be that easy," Rick muttered. "It's a cliché ..."

He crossed to the fish tank, looking for and finding a small net hooked onto the side, probably for scooping out detritus and dead fish.

For a moment he could see, playing in his mind, Alexis, aged five, desperate for one of the goldfish at the carnival, and him spending more money than it was worth to win it for her. It hadn't survived beyond a week, and Alexis had cried for hours when it died, but they'd buried it in the park when no-one was looking, as he read a specially composed piece, and his daughter had taken flowers to the site for a long time after.

No. That was a memory for a better day, when he wasn't trying to catch a murderer.

Using the little net, he pushed around in the sand, then it caught, dragged. He lifted it out, the water running off something. Something the size of a quail's egg. More specifically, a diamond the size of a quail's egg.

"No imagination," he whispered to the fish, pulling the net back up and taking the gem from inside. Gaudy and vulgar ... yes. But also proof positive. He went to pick up the cellphone he'd put down next to the tank.

"Mr Castle."

Rick froze, the diamond in his hand dripping water back into the aquarium.

"That isn't yours."


	14. Chapter 14

"This is taking too long," Kate grumbled, her fingers tip-tapping on the dashboard. Normally she'd drive, but this time Ryan was behind the wheel, trying to weave through early afternoon traffic.

"It's people wanting to get home before the snow gets too bad," Esposito explained, somewhat unnecessarily, from the back seat.

"I can head on over to –" Ryan began.

She shook her head. "It won't be any better." Even with the siren going cars couldn't move out of the way if they had no place to move to. "Damn it, can't you ever do anything the right way round?" she murmured.

Ryan and Esposito exchanged looks via the rear view mirror. They both knew she wasn't talking about them, but about Castle, and they sympathised. The trouble was, though, both of these seasoned police officers could also see it from the Rick's point of view. There were times any cop wished he could just go and break in somewhere, find the evidence, and arrest the bad guy. But there was such a thing as 'probable cause', and 'chain of evidence'. If either of them had done that on the cases they'd wanted, half the perps would have walked on technicalities.

Ryan glanced at Kate. If this particular perp walked because of Castle's inability to wait, he didn't think much of the author's chances of survival. Not once Kate had got hold of him.

Her cellphone rang. "Castle? Is that –"

"Not Rick. It's me, Brock."

The blind owner of the Blue Cat club. She forced herself to relax a little. "Thanks for calling me back."

She could imagine the black man smiling, his scarred eyes staring into nothing. "No problem. What can I do for you?"

"Is Merrick Canfield there?"

There was a slight pause. "Now why would you want to know that?"

"Call it professional curiosity. He said he was going to rehearse at your club."

"Well, he was. But he called it off. The other guys in the Quartet weren't that pleased, either. They'd just turned up when he rang."

"So he isn't there."

"Nope. Haven't seen him since Saturday night." He paused again. "Is there something wrong? I can hear it, at the back of your throat."

"I'll explain another time. Thanks for the information, Brock." She closed her cellphone. "Damn."

Ryan, finally getting on a little speed as the other cars managed to pull over in front of them, glanced across at her. "What is it?"

"I think we might need back-up. Canfield might be at home."

He nodded, picking up the radio handset.

Kate dialled Castle's cellphone number again.

-

Rick stood perfectly still, not making anything like a threatening move. "Merrick Canfield," he said softly.

"The very same. Now, drop the diamond back into the water and step away from the aquarium. Oh, and in case you're in any doubt, I'm armed, so be very careful."

"Careful. Got it." Rick did as he was told, the gemstone making a disappointingly small splash as it fell among the fishes. He took a pace backwards.

"Far enough, Mr Castle. Now. Turn around."

Leaving his hands raised, Rick rotated on his heel. Merrick Canfield stood in the doorway, dressed in a tastefully expensive sweater and jeans, an open coat over the top. And a gun aimed squarely at Rick's chest. "Is it just you?" Canfield asked, one eyebrow lifted in query. "Or can I assume the cavalry is on its way?"

Rick didn't answer. It wasn't the first time he'd been on the wrong end of a barrel, and each time he'd managed to either get it away from the other guy, or Kate had been there to save him. This time, though, the look on Canfield's face said that, despite it being messy and against his religion of keeping things excruciatingly neat, he'd be more than happy to squeeze the trigger before Rick could even attempt to knock it out of his hand, and Kate wasn't likely to make any last minute rescue with a suitably pithy line that he just had to keep for Nikki Heat.

"Is it him?" asked a voice from the living area, slightly out of breath, and a man appeared in the doorway.

For just a second Rick wondered if he was seeing double, then he smiled. "Twins. I knew it." No wonder he'd dreamed about twins the night before – his subconscious had been trying very hard to tell him, and he'd finally listened.

"I doubt that. I doubt it very much," the one with the gun said smugly.

"Oh, I did. I worked it out. And not just me, but Detective Beckett knows, too."

"Of course she does." He couldn't have sounded more scathing if he'd tried.

"No, really." Rick shrugged. "But then, you're amateurs. And amateurs make mistakes."

The second Canfield bridled. "No, we don't."

Rick ignored him. "You know, I was thinking it was someone who looked like you, someone you paid to stand in for you. It was only today I realised this was how you did it. Like a conjuring trick."

"I prefer to think of it as a more modern version of the shell game." The first Canfield smiled tightly. "Or Hunt the Lady."

"Just shoot him," the second man advised, moving forward. "Aren't you glad I didn't get rid of the gun like you told me to?"

"Shut up, Andrew."

Rick nodded, taking in the new arrival's coat, the green silk shirt … "So Andrew's the one I met at the station today. And I bet you came up the back stairs," he added, before turning back to the man with the gun. "And you're Merrick, the Canfield Kate and I visited here a couple of days ago, and you came in the front."

Merrick Canfield nodded, the gun not moving an inch. "This is my apartment. Andrew has a place of his own."

"But you share a life." Now Rick could see them together, he could tell there were tiny differences, the shape of Merrick's mouth, the line of Andrew's eyebrows, but if they apart he wouldn't have a chance of in hell of saying for certain which one he was talking to if it wasn't for the clothes.

"Only fitting," Merrick said, shrugging slightly. "He's my brother."

"And how did that work, exactly?"

Andrew was getting restless. "Merry, we need to do something about him. Not stand around and talk."

"I know. And I'm thinking."

Rick exhaled heavily. "As I suspected. You're the brains, aren't you, Merry?"

"Merrick."

"Sorry."

"But you're right. I do all the heavy thinking. Andrew is much more … spontaneous. Which is why we're in this dilemma at all."

"Merry –" Andrew began, but his brother cut him off.

"Just let me …" He stopped, a noise impinging on his hearing. "What's that?"

Andrew listened, then pointed to something next to the aquarium, vibrating on the glass. "A phone." He glared at Rick. "Is it yours?"

"Yes."

"Andrew, get it," Merrick ordered.

His twin nodded, then moved carefully around the edge of the room until he could reach the phone. He lifted it up. "It doesn't say who's calling," he said.

"Well?" Merrick asked. "Who is it?"

"No idea," Rick admitted. "It's a new phone. I haven't got all the options figured out yet, like Caller ID, so it could be any one of my many girlfriends." He lowered his tone to a more confidential level. "You know how it goes. Man like me, with my kind of fame … any girl, any time, anywhere. If you like I can talk to her, put her off."

"And let you warn someone?" Merrick looked almost disgusted, then stepped back. "Mr Castle, I think we'd better make ourselves more comfortable."

-

"Is he answering?" Esposito asked, leaning on the back of Ryan's seat, looking at Kate.

"No." She glared at the phone, her knuckles white as she gripped it.

"You really think he's in trouble?"

She didn't respond.

-

"Why don't you take a seat?" Merrick gestured with the gun.

Rick lowered himself into the armchair by the unlit fireplace in the main living area, watching Andrew put his cellphone down on a side table. "Is this where you tell me all about how clever you've been?" he asked, looking back up at Merrick. "Because that's what this is all about, isn't it? How clever Merrick Canfield got the better of the New York City police force?"

"But I did."

"Mmn, not quite. I'm here."

"You're not a police officer. You're … what, a consultant? At least according to my sources." Merrick gave a bark of laughter. "A consultant. That's so very amusing. A hack of a writer using the homicide department as his very own playpen."

"Tell me, were you hugged enough as a child?"

Merrick didn't rise to the bait. "Who did you have to bribe, Castle? To let you tag along? So you could base your new character on a real person, rather than actually go through the hard work of making one up?"

That was it. The opportunity. A natural point at which to say … "Oh, you mean Katie Beckett, my muse?"

"Detective Beckett, yes."

"A beautiful woman," Andrew added.

"Couldn't agree more." _Katie Beckett, my muse_. He'd programmed it in earlier, the two phrases he'd used to piss her off more than anything, and now he really hoped the voice activation on the phone would pick up, would call her, that she'd answer and understand what was going on. And that neither Canfield would notice the light on the screen. "And I didn't have to bribe anyone, Merrick. I just asked nicely. I didn't have to kill two young women. Not like you did."

-

"How much longer?" Kate muttered, checking her gun yet again.

"Not long," Ryan assured her, overtaking a green Datsun and narrowly missing being side-swiped by a container lorry that hooted mournfully at them as it passed.

"As long as we get there in one piece," Esposito murmured, his face somewhat pale.

Kate's cellphone rang again, and she tugged it from her coat. Her eyes widened. "It's Castle." Pressing the answer button, she was about to let forth with a torrent of invective when she stopped and put her hand over the microphone.

"Boss?" Esposito watched in surprise as she rummaged in the glove box, then pulled out a hand's free phone set, plugging it together.

"Hold this," she whispered, gesturing to the phone.

He took it, keeping it in place at her ear while she fiddled with the earpiece the other side. Ryan glanced over his shoulder at them, then concentrated on driving in the swirling snow.

-

"I didn't kill anyone, Mr Castle." Merrick perched himself on one of the stools along the breakfast bar.

"No?"

"No. I'm afraid that was Andrew here."

His brother looked shocked. "Merry, don't."

"No, I think it's only right that he understands. He won't be able to tell anyone, but …"

"I'd like to understand," Rick put in quickly. "I mean, when I said you'd been clever, I meant it. Like pretending to be each other."

"Oh, that wasn't difficult," Merrick admitted. "We've been doing that for years. Ever since we found each other."

"Found?" Rick was willing to listen to anything, ask any questions, as long as it gave Kate time. He offered up a silent prayer that she was listening, that he was going to be able to see Alexis again.

-

"It's Castle," Kate mouthed. "He's talking to Canfield. And his brother."

"In the apartment?" Esposito asked, barely vocalising.

"I hope so."

"So Castle was right."

"Yes." Just a one word answer, as if there wasn't time for any more, and they were still too far away.

-

"It was an accident, pure and simple," Merrick said. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be a teenager, on the cusp of life, and coming face to face with your doppelganger? Your mirror image?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It was only chance, being in the same diner, at the same time, heading in opposite directions. I was driving home after seeing a girlfriend, he was doing the same after spending a week in the city."

"I almost had a heart attack," Andrew admitted.

"We figured out what had happened. Eventually. I did some research, found out that I had had a twin, about the kidnapping … and we realised Andrew's parents must have been the ones who took him."

"They'd died when I was seventeen," Andrew added. "The trip to New York had been a … well, a memorial to them, I suppose."

"Of course, he wasn't called Andrew. They'd changed it."

"To Melvin. Can you believe that? When Merry told me my real name, I was ecstatic."

"I set him up with an apartment, clothes … even had him cut his hair like mine." Merrick smiled coldly. "It was amusing. Seeing who we could fool. Even women. They never knew if they'd slept with me or him."

"That must have been fun," Rick said, feeling a stab of guilt as he realised that, in the same situation, he might have done the same thing.

"It was. Particularly when we realised Andrew had musical talent as well." Merrick glanced at his brother. "Not like mine. But almost … as if we are two halves of the same whole."

"He plays jazz, you play classical."

"Exactly." The smile had warmed a degree. "You know, I actually hate jazz. There's no precision, no control, no –"

"That's not true," Andrew interrupted. "If anything, it's more controlled, because you have no set music. It's all about feelings, about using the contrapuntal melody to express the innermost parts of yourself."

Merrick sighed, and Rick had to stop himself from laughing. This was obviously an old argument, and one that would never be resolved. "Is that why all this happened?" he asked, wanting to get back on track. "You said it was because Andrew was spontaneous."

"Yes." He glanced at his brother. "It was all a game, you see. Amanda Tyler came to Juilliard to meet her sister one day, I was lecturing, and we got talking. Pretty little thing. Not my usual sort at all, but I knew Andrew would like her. So when I arranged to see her again, I told her not to tell anyone, that it would be our secret. She liked that. So very young …"

"I loved her," Andrew put in, his voice soft.

"Perhaps." Merrick cut through. "That didn't stop you. Or me. I told her to call me Andrew, to think of me like that, so nobody would suspect, not even her sister. And we had a fun time, the three of us." He smiled again. "She had no idea."

Rick felt slightly sick. It was almost as he'd surmised, but he had to admit the reality wasn't anywhere near as entertaining. "What happened?"

-

Ryan pulled the car up behind Castle's, snow covering the windshield as soon as the wipers were turned off.

Kate was immediately out of the car, tossing her coat back inside and ignoring the cold, heading for the trunk and her police-issue vest.

"Where's the warrant?" Esposito asked Ryan as they followed.

He shrugged as two black and whites arrived, disgorging their occupants.

-

"We were here," Andrew said, looking around the penthouse. "I had the TV on, we were naked, about to …" He stopped, embarrassed by the mere mention of sex, but not of killing someone. Clearing his throat, he went on, and as he talked Rick's cursed imagination filled in the rest in too bright technicolour.

Amanda with Andrew, in this very room, getting amorous on the rug. Then the TV showing the live rehearsals at the Lincoln Centre, and Amanda demanding to know what was going on.

"She said we were conning everyone, making a laughing stock out of our fans, the press, out of _her_ ..." Andrew paused. "She was going to tell. I had to stop her."

Andrew with his hands around her throat, her fingernails scratching at his arms, leaving long grazes that he would cover with plastic spray-on skin.

"I'd actually found the stuff on the internet," Andrew added. "I gave it to Merry, for when he played in the Quartet for me, when I wanted to be somewhere else."

"Cuts on his fingers …" Rick breathed.

"That's what you were looking for, wasn't it?" Andrew leaned forward. "Today. Looking at my hands."

"Andrew, get on with it," Merrick ordered.

The fight going out of her as the light faded in her eyes, the snap of her hyoid bone under his strong thumbs. Then her body lying lifeless on the rug as he stepped back, coming to his senses.

"He called me," Merrick said, taking up the story. "In a panic, as usual." He shook his head. "He had an idea of pushing her off the terrace, making it look like she killed herself. I told him to wait for me. That I'd deal with everything."

Once again the scene unfolded in Rick's mind. Merrick returning, up the back stairs so unseen by the guard. Finding the body out on the terrace, persuading his brother they had to be cleverer, to make the suspicion head away from them. Cleaning under Amanda's fingernails then redressing her in her underwear, another ploy for when she was found to persuade a gullible police force that it was a sexual crime, or at least to confuse them. Folding her up to fit inside the double bass case, then carrying it back down the stairs to the car, not knowing one of them had left trace on her skin ...

"And the double bass?" Rick asked. "Where's that? I presume you haven't got rid of it."

"No," Merrick said. "I have a storage locker. It's in there. I haven't decided what to do with it yet."

"Burn it," Rick advised. "It's just another bit of evidence against you." He shook his head. "You know, you should have let Andy here push her off the terrace. All this planning of yours ... it was too fiddly. Too much for a decent plot."

"This isn't a book, Mr Castle."

"No. If it was, the police would break in right now and arrest you." He looked towards the door, but it stayed in one piece.

Merrick smiled again. "They're too busy chasing their own tails."

"Quite possibly." Rick swallowed. "What about Michelle?"

-

"We need to get upstairs to Canfield's apartment." Esposito had his badge out, but the guard wasn't budging.

Harrison shook his head. "Sorry. I just can't. I don't care how much you wave that in my face, I don't let anyone into the elevators unless the tenant gives permission."

"Can you at least tell me if Canfield is up there?"

"I'm sorry, but that information is privileged and I can't just … hey!"

Ryan had leaned over and grabbed the logbook. His finger stabbed down on the last entry. "He's here."

"Damn," Esposito muttered.

The door to the lobby opened, and a tall woman walked in, bringing half a ton of snow with her.

Ryan loped across to her. "Jenny."

It was the clerk from Judge Markoway's office, and she was holding out a blue envelope. "Your warrant."

He took it, scanned the contents quickly, then smiled at her. "Thanks. I owe you."

"And I will collect." Her perfect red lips curved slightly, then she was gone, her fur coat wrapped tightly around her body.

Kate had ignored the exchange, all her attention on the ear-piece.

-

"She came here, Friday evening. With this stupid scrapbook she'd found. Amanda had kept all the bits and pieces Andrew ever gave her, even though she swore she'd thrown them away. It wouldn't have mattered, not too much, but somehow she'd managed to get a photo of the two of them. Probably on someone's phone. But it was clearly him. Or me." He sighed. "She knew who I was, of course. From the lectures at Juilliard. So I couldn't let her leave."

"Let me guess," Rick said. "You were trying to bluff your way out, probably admitting to your affair with Amanda, that you were really worried about her disappearing the way she had. You made her a drink, probably more than one, and excused yourself for a few minutes before the second so you could go and get the Nitrados."

"Oh, you found that, did you?" Merrick didn't look at all phased, more quietly pleased. "It kept her quiet, docile. And out of the way."

An ugly suspicion was blooming in Rick's mind. "She was here, wasn't she? While Kate and I … while we were talking."

"Oh, yes. In my bedroom."

For a split second Rick hoped Kate wasn't listening in on the conversation, that she'd never know how close they'd been to saving Michelle's life. She was going to take this hard. "That's … inhuman."

"No, Mr Castle. That's clever. As we've been saying."

"Then the theft of the necklace, all that business at the Book Awards … just window dressing."

"Of course. Andrew had worked a summer at the hotel, he knew the security systems. The dear Sheikh was a fan of jazz, asked the Quartet to play at his engagement party." Merrick leaned forward. "Do you know he showed me the necklace?" His nose wrinkled. "Quite commonly vulgar."

"They mean the same thing," Rick murmured.

-

"We have a warrant." Esposito held it up.

Harrison reached for the phone. "I'll just –"

Kate's hand came down on his. "Not this time." She looked at one of the uniformed officers with them. "Vasquez, stay here. Make sure he doesn't alert anyone."

"Yes, ma'am."

-

"So you decided to kill two birds with one stone."

"One phone, actually." Merrick chuckled at his own joke. "That was Andrew."

"Merry …" The other Canfield twin was looking more and more uncomfortable. "Don't."

Merrick glanced at his brother. "No. You shouldn't hide your light under a bushel. It's probably why you're so good at playing jazz, too, while I struggle." Merrick looked back at Rick. "He can improvise, you see. I can't."

"And the theft itself?"

"All Andrew. I was playing at the Blue Cat club, and cutting my fingers to pieces in the process." He glanced at his hand. "That plastic skin stings like the devil when you spray it on, did you know that?"

"No, I didn't."

"But yes, the theft was Andrew. My plan, his talent. He's a genius with it comes to inventing things. He can put together anything you like from any bits and pieces lying around. You want a foolproof way of picking an electronic hotel lock? No problem. Or a gadget to inject a tiny amount of fish poison? He can knock one up in a few minutes. Like I said, he's a genius." Merrick was inordinately proud of his brother, and it turned Rick's stomach.

-

As the elevator sped upwards, Harrison watched Vasquez, the man detailed to stop him warning Canfield. But as he'd told Mr Castle, he was paid to ensure their privacy, or at least warn the tenants if it was about to be breached. Vasquez glanced at the lights showing the elevator's progress, and he took the opportunity. Reaching under the desk, Harrison found the right button, and pressed it twice, then looked up to see a gun in his face.

"What did you do?" Vasquez growled.

-

"You can't fence the diamonds, you know," Rick pointed out, beginning to despair that anyone was going to come to his rescue. They're way too hot."

"We weren't intending to. We don't need money – I have enough for both of us. It wasn't about that."

"No. It was about being clever." He watched Merrick closely, seeing if there was any way he could get the gun from him.

"Oh, I'm glad you approve."

"Not quite the word I'd use." Or a weapon. Something he could use as a weapon.

"Come now. An author like yourself should appreciate the complexity, the genuine talent that went into the planning, the execution." Merrick smiled, tasting the last word like a fine wine.

The phone buzzed twice.

"What was that?" Andrew asked, staring at it.

"Harrison, downstairs. It means we're about to have company," Merrick said, his finger tightening on the trigger.

-

"He warned them." Vasquez' voice sounded in Ryan's earwig. "The guard warned Canfield."

"Boss –" Ryan began, but Kate had heard something else over the cellphone and raised her gun.

-

"It seems we have to go." Merrick sounded almost apologetic. "I wish I could say it's been fun." He aimed.

"No, now, look, I can –" Whatever Rick was about to offer was lost in the explosion of gunpowder, and the sudden impact in his chest took him over backwards, the chair following.

The door slammed open. "Police! Drop your weapon!"

Merrick turned, the gun swinging around in front of him, aiming at the intruders.

Kate fired, catching him high in the right of his chest. He span, the gun flying from his fingers to knock the Fender Stratocaster from its stand, both of them falling to the floor.


	15. Chapter 15

"Castle. Castle!" Her voice was more emphatic with each repetition of his name. "Damn it, Rick, you're not dead."

"I'm not?"

"No. Although I'm not sure how."

Rick opened his eyes, tried to take a deep breath, then swore on the shallow one he was only able to manage. At Kate's concerned look, he wanted to smile, but the pain in his chest was too overpowering. "Shit, Kate, what's it like when you really get shot?" he asked, trying to sit up. "And you called me Rick." That made it almost worthwhile.

"Don't move," she told him, her hand pressing gently against his shoulder. "The paramedics are on their way."

"I don't need them."

"He shot you at close range."

Rick managed a small grin, reaching up and undoing the buttons on his shirt. "I may be stupid, Kate, but I'm not that stupid." As he pulled the fabric aside, she could see the bulletproof vest underneath.

"You're wearing a ..." She sat back on her heels.

"Better safe than sorry, as my dear old white-haired mother used to say." He paused. "Actually, she's a sort of dyed reddish brunette, and she'd kill me if she heard me describe her as old, and as for dear ..."

"Castle." The sheer exasperation in her voice had him smiling wider. She stood up, turning away from him, not wanting him to see how relieved she was.

He climbed to his feet, albeit somewhat shakily, the memory of going back to his car after talking to Harrison and taking the vest with the word WRITER emblazoned on it flashing through his mind. He'd nearly got frostbite putting it on under his shirt in the car park before heading up to Canfield's apartment, but the pain of getting shot in it was easing somewhat from knowing Kate cared. He chattered on. "And the truth is, she never said that. She'd always much rather be sorry than safe, as evidenced by her currently living in my apartment, and not being able to tell me who my father is. Or was."

She turned and poked him in the chest. "Bastard."

"Exactly." He realised she'd got him right where the bullet had. "And, ouch?"

"You should put that in your next book," she advised, taking a deep breath. "Wearing a vest doesn't stop it from hurting."

"No, I discovered that." He tried to ease the vest away from the rapidly developing bruises then poked a finger at the hole in the fabric above. "And Alexis isn't going to be pleased. This was her favourite shirt of mine."

"I'm sure she'd rather it was torn to pieces than had blood soaking into it."

"Actually, me too."

Behind them Andrew Canfield was struggling to get to his brother against the two officers holding his arms. "Let me go!" he yelled.

"Which is which, by the way?" Ryan asked, nodding towards them.

"The one bleeding is Merrick," Rick explained. "That one's Andrew. And the gun –" He pointed to the Fender on the floor and winced. "– is the same one used to shoot as us, I think you'll find. By Andrew."

Ryan grinned. "So you have all the answers."

"Absolutely."

"Know where Sasquatch is?"

"That's in my next book."

Ryan laughed and signalled the officers to take Andrew out of the apartment and back down to the car. They passed the paramedics coming in the other way, who immediately went to work on the fallen man.

Rick looked at Kate. "You heard," he said, gently touching the earpiece.

She nodded. "I did."

"Then you know."

"That you were right? Yes."

"You don't have to apologise."

"I wasn't intending to."

"You know, I'm not above saying _I told you so_."

"Don't gloat."

"I never gloat."

She fixed him with a look, turning away as Merrick was loaded on the stretcher.

As the paramedics prepared to wheel him out to the elevator, Rick put up a hand and they paused.

"By the way, Merry," he said, looking down at the man who had tried to kill him. "If you're going to shoot, just do it. All this pontificating and explaining how brilliant you were ... it only works in Bond films and bad fiction, not in real life."

"I'll remember that," Merrick ground out, his eyes not leaving Rick's as he was taken out of the apartment.

Rick turned back to Kate, but she still had the same look on her face. "You know, I'd rather you shouted at me," he pointed out. "Or something. This … quiet attitude of yours is very unsettling."

She sighed deeply. "Castle, you can't do this kind of thing. There are rules. Regulations."

"You didn't believe me."

"That's not the point."

"I think it's exactly the point."

"So you're not interested in knowing that we found out about Canfield's twin, then. And the fact that he'd left the Lincoln Centre that day, _with_ his double bass. And took a cab back to his apartment."

His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair. "You did?"

"Yes. Solid, reliable police work, backed up with evidence."

"Ah."

"Exactly."

He looked into her eyes, seeing something he wasn't used to, something he didn't much like. "Are they going to walk? Is that it? Did I fuck it up to the point that the Canfields are going to get away with this?"

She stared at him for so long he really began to be afraid of the answer. Finally she spoke. "No. But not for lack of trying. Judge Markoway signed the search warrant just before you broke and entered."

"I didn't break anything."

"Do not split hairs. What you did was unethical, technically illegal, and their lawyers are going to fight it all the way, but … no, I think we're safe. Just."

He let out a long lungful of air. "You had me worried there for a minute."

She stepped close, so close that barely a breath separated them. "You do that again, and I will shoot you. And you won't be wearing a vest at the time." Letting her message sink in for a moment, she turned away.

"Kate."

"What?"

"We couldn't have saved her."

"I know."

But he knew she didn't believe it.

---

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in?" Rick asked, leaning on the wall as Kate unlocked her front door. "Make sure there's nothing untoward happened. No burglars or anything."

"Thanks, but no. And just consider yourself lucky. I should really be arresting you."

"I told you, I didn't break anything," Rick protested.

It was late, Kate having spent hours back at the precinct interrogating Andrew Canfield then writing up her report. Rick had sat with her, keeping her company, prompting her with any little details she'd overlooked until she'd threatened him with irreparable harm.

"Anyway," he went on, "you got a result."

"You mean Andrew saying it was all down to Merrick?" She managed a slight smile. "That was a given."

"At least he admitted it."

"And when Esposito gets in to talk to Merrick, he's going to say it was all Andrew's idea."

"Even though you heard the truth on my phone?"

The smile grew somewhat. "That just gives me ammunition." She shook her head. "Anyway, all I want now is a hot shower and my bed."

"Sounds good. How about I come in and wash your back?"

"Castle –"

A door further along the hall opened.

"Kate?" It was Greg Albery.

She rolled her eyes. "I can't be dealing with this right now," she said, all the same starting to push past Rick to get to her neighbour.

"Then let me," Rick said, half-smiling. He turned. "Hi." He leaned on the wall, cutting off Greg's view. "I'm Rick."

"Rick?" Greg blinked, twice. "No, you're not. You're Richard Castle."

"Guilty as charged."

Greg's mouth was open, his eyes wide. "My God, I've got all your books."

"That's nice." He leaned forward. "Now, I believe Kate said you're a writer yourself."

"I ... yes, I try."

"Then let me give you a piece of advice." Rick put his arm around the younger man's shoulders, steering back towards his doorway. "Write. All the time. Morning, noon and night. And don't let anyone or anything interrupt you. It's the only way."

"But Kate –"

"Is _my_ partner. If you get my drift." Rick allowed one eyelid to close, very slightly. "Not that we like to broadcast it, of course."

Greg was taken aback. "No. Of course. I can see ... yes."

"Good." Rick smiled. "Then I'm sure you'll understand it that I can't allow anyone else to ... profit from her talents. Her lovely, very luscious talents."

Greg swallowed. "No. Yes. Right. I ... yes." He was already back inside his own apartment, although he wasn't sure how he got there."

"I knew you'd understand. We writers are like that. Empathic." The smile widened into a grin. "So nice to have met you." He began to pull the door to.

"Yes, it was nice to ... if there's anything I can ... wait, don't –"

His words were cut off as the lock engaged.

Rick turned back to Kate, a _Smug No. 5_ on his face. "And that's how you do it."

"I'm sure that was illegal."

"Immoral, maybe. Illegal, no."

Her lips twitched slightly as she pushed the door open and walked into her apartment. Rick followed.

"Go home to your family," she said over her shoulder.

"I called them. They know I'm all right." He grinned. "Besides, I thought you might let me take a look at your manuscript."

She shrugged out of her coat and dropped it on the floor. "I threw it out."

Picking up the offending article of clothing, he hung it up. "I don't believe you. And were you born in a barn?"

"I don't need to write fiction." She sat down in the chair, pushing her boots off her feet. "Not with what goes on in real life."

"You know it can be cathartic. Getting it all out on paper, before it does something nasty in your brain."

"Is that what your brain is filled up with? Crap?"

He grinned. "Totally. Barely enough room in there to remember my own name." He pushed his hands into his pockets. "But it works."

She shook her head. "I don't need your advice, Castle. I handled things before you arrived, and I'll handle them when you finally leave me alone."

"Ah, Katie, you don't mean that."

"Call me Katie again and I'll show you exactly how much I mean it."

He laughed. "Okay, okay. I know when I'm not wanted."

"Because people tell you."

"Usually you." He sauntered to the door. "Are you sure you don't want company? I'm a good listener."

"No. Go. Away."

"Fine. See you in the morning."

"Not if I see you first."

She watched as he walked out laughing, closing the door firmly behind him, and she sighed. She hadn't been lying, of course. She wanted to be on her own, to get her thoughts in order before she tried to sleep, but she had an idea it was going to take a long while.

Another sigh was wrung from the depths of her soul, and she stood up. Maybe a tea would settle her more. Padding into the kitchen, she filled the kettle and put it on to heat, leaning on the counter and closing her eyes. That didn't help, though. All she could see was Amanda and Michelle Tyler, lying cold on the slabs in Lanie's morgue.

Then she flashed on Castle lying on the floor of Canfield's apartment, the smell of cordite in the air. She was never going to admit it, and most certainly not to him, but her heart was in her throat when she saw that. She thought he was dead, dying at the very least, and it shocked her how much even the idea hurt. Of course, she'd have felt that way about anyone, but still …

Instead he'd been wearing a vest. A bullet-proof vest. She could have shot him herself just for that. But the relief had been palpable, and she'd been rather shaken by it. Still was, if the truth be known.

She shook her head as the kettle boiled, and she opened her eyes. No, that wasn't the way to be thinking. She must be more tired than she realised. Making the tea, she tried to think of something else, anything else except Castle, but as she went to drop the used teabag into the bin, he came back full force.

Okay. Fine. Maybe he was right. Not admitting anything, but … She leaned over and reached inside. Brushing the coffee grounds off it, she flicked through the pages, and had to smile. Maybe it wasn't great literature, and it would never sell – not that she'd try – but perhaps it wouldn't hurt to work on it a bit more.

---

Rick opened the door to his apartment, half expecting to find Maggie waiting for him, or Alexis, or at the very least his mother. But the hall was empty, and he found himself oddly disappointed. Not that he wanted a fanfare, or a party or anything. But it would be nice to know that someone cared enough to miss him.

Although there was something, just on the edge of his hearing. It sounded like the TV in his study. He moved forward, for some reason tiptoeing in his own house. He looked in, and saw one of the twenty-four hour news channels playing quietly.

Alexis was in the armchair, her feet drawn up under her like a cat, watching the anchor man holding forth about how the recession was biting, while Maggie was on the sofa sleeping, if the light snores were anything to go by.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Oh. Hey, Dad." His daughter muted the TV and smiled at him.

"Shouldn't you be in bed? It's a school day tomorrow."

She nodded towards the TV. "This is called doing research."

"Maybe you are my kid after all," he said approvingly. Then he sniffed. "Do I smell Scotch?"

"Mmn." She pointed to an open bottle on the coffee table. "Maggie had some while we watched a film."

He picked it and read the label. "Pure single malt. An _expensive_ pure single malt." He fixed her with a stern glare. "Where'd you get this?"

"Ordered it in. I put it on your bill."

"Clever." He grinned. "How come you're not …" He indicated Maggie.

"She said I was too young. Besides, she only had a small glass herself."

"Then how come she's asleep."

"Because she was worried about you, Dad."

"And that means -"

"That she exhausted herself worrying about you."

"And you didn't."

"I know you. And you did call to let us know you were okay. Almost like a grown-up."

He knew he was being insulted, but he was too tired to care. Instead he sat down next to Maggie and carefully lifted her feet onto his lap. "Well, I was told off for not doing that before. And I am fine. Bruised, but okay." He went on quickly. "So … why the scotch and the film?"

"I wanted to find out why she said no."

Rick smiled ruefully. "She won't tell anyone, not even me. And I asked." He glanced at the sleeping woman. "Did you find out?"

"No." Alexis smiled. "I now know more than I ever wanted to about your exploits in college, but as to why she turned you down … not a word."

"Oh. Pity." He closed one eye and peered at her. "Did she tell you about the wetsuit and the hairdryer?"

"Uh huh."

"What about the ten chihuahuas and the science lab?"

"Yes."

"The rowboat and –"

"Even that one." She shook her head. "I'm surprised you ever had time to study."

"Me too."

Alexis got up, stretching. "Well, I'm going to bed. Like you said, I have school tomorrow."

"Me too." He grinned. "You sure you don't want some hot chocolate? I think there's some marshmallows around, if your grandmother hasn't eaten them all."

"You mean like you used to make me, when I couldn't sleep because of the monsters under the bed?"

"And I'd check before tucking you back in." He sighed. "Ah, happy times." He grinned at her. "Sweet dreams, Ally Pally." He hadn't called her that in a very long time.

"Probably about the chickens and the administrator's car."

His eyebrows raised. "I'd forgotten that one."

"I wish I could. When you grow up, let me know."

"I did. The day I held you in my arms for the first time."

"You should try it again. Once in a while." She kissed him on the top of his head then glanced at Maggie. "You know, if she'd said yes, I wouldn't be here."

"No," he said, leaning back to look into her face. "I think I was bound to have you, sooner or later."

"Broke a lot of mirrors in your time, huh?"

"Hundreds. Just to make sure."

"It had to be something like that."

"Besides, I gave you a wicked stepmother. Not many little girls get one of those for their birthday." His eyebrow twitched.

"That sort of present I could have done without." She smiled. "Oh, and, by the way? I figured out quite quickly there weren't monsters under the bed."

"And you didn't tell me?" He pretended to be shocked. "You mean I wasted all that hot chocolate …"

"Better than the twenty grand in therapists' bills you'd have had to shell out otherwise," she reminded him.

"I wouldn't have minded. Although I preferred the chocolate."

"I know. Me too." She sighed happily and headed for her bedroom. "Good night."

"Night." He watched her go, then looked down at Maggie. "Why didn't you say yes, Mags?" he asked, wondering if he'd ever get an answer.

"I'm not asleep," she said, surprising him. "And I'm not telling." She opened her eyes and wriggled around so she was sitting up.

"I hear you were worried about me."

"Lies. All lies." She rubbed at her eyes.

"Really."

"No truth to it at all." She smiled tiredly. "Well? Did you get them?"

"Yes," Rick admitted, grinning. "They're going to blame the other, of course, but we know Andrew was the killer, even though they're both technically responsible for Michelle Tyler's death." He settled more comfortably against the leather. "So, did you and Alexis have a good chat about me while I was out saving the world from serial killers?"

"Is that what you were doing?"

"Well, me and Kate." Something changed in Maggie's face, and for an instant he was back in the precinct, watching the elevator doors in front of her. "Okay, what have I said now?"

"Nothing." She shook her head and stood up. "I think I'd better go to bed."

"No. Tell me. You've been having these funny moods since you arrived. You're not pregnant, are you?"

"No, I'm not!"

"Because if you were, I'd be happy to make the bastard marry you."

Her lips tightened. "I'm not pregnant. And if I were I wouldn't need your help."

He touched her hand. "Maggie, you're not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing."

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be behaving like a kid."

"Me?"

"You." He got wearily to his feet and put his hand on her shoulder. "So 'fess up."

"I think that's rich, calling me immature, when you're -"

"Maggie. What. Is. It." He punctuated each word with a slight squeeze.

She glared at him, then in a moment the words were spilling from her mouth, no matter how hard she tried to stop them. "You … you treat me like one of the boys!"

He looked surprised. "And that's a problem?"

"Sometimes, yes!"

"Sit down." He took her arm but she resisted. "Sit down," he repeated, pulling her gently back towards the couch.

With ill-grace she dropped onto the cushions. "We don't need to do this, Rick."

"I think we do." He composed his face in a suitably receptive expression. "So. Tell me."

She glared at him. "It's just …"

"What?"

"You asked me to watch porn with you!"

"Like we've always done."

"I know. That's the problem."

He had an inkling, the same inkling he'd always had over his relationship with Maggie. "You said no," he pointed out, keeping his voice quiet. "Are you regretting that?"

"Rick, we were too young."

"Not that young."

"Barely out of our teens, and full of the confidence of youth."

"Some of us haven't lost that."

"I know. And it's one of the things I love … I like about you."

He was a gentleman and didn't jump on her slip of the tongue. "Just so long as there are other things you … like about me."

"A few," she admitted.

"So what's wrong with me asking you to watch porn with me?"

"Because I'm female."

"Isn't that sexist?"

"That's not the point."

"What is?"

She gazed at him, her forehead puckered. "How do you see me?"

"Is this is trick question?"

"I mean, what as? A woman? Or just a friend?"

"Can't you be both?"

"Yes, and I want to be. But …"

"You know, you're not exactly making sense."

She sighed and slumped back. "I should be able to deal with this but … I'm jealous."

"Jealous."

"Mmn."

"Dare I ask who you're jealous of?"

"Damn it, Rick, do I have to spell it out?"

"Kate."

"Yes."

"You weren't jealous of Meredith. Or Gina."

"I was. Sort of."

"Maggie, you introduced me to Meredith. So it's actually your fault we got married."

"I know. Although I think you should take some of the blame for asking her." She laid her head on the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. "Do you have someone who comes in and dusts up there?" she asked inconsequentially.

"Yes. And you're not going to change the subject."

"Why not?"

"Maggie, I asked you to marry me. If you'd said yes, I think we'd probably still be together."

"I don't."

Surprise shot through him. "You don't?"

"No. I think you'd have got tired of me and you'd have gone off with someone else."

"I haven't got tired of you now."

"But we're not married."

"You really think that makes such a big difference?"

She rolled her head so she could look at him, her green eyes suspiciously bright. "It's why I said no. I could take being your friend. But I couldn't take you leaving me for someone else."

"Despite the fact that I've been married to two different women in the meantime."

"Exactly."

"So because I've been married and divorced – and I'd like to point out that only doing it twice in this town is conservative – just goes to prove that you were right in the first place."

"Rick, I loved Meredith, despite her somewhat scary and insane nature. Gina … well, I could happily have throttled her, and the inclination has never gone away. But you've got Alexis from your first marriage, and a headache from your second, and we're still friends. I think we can look on this as a win-win situation."

"Maggie, Kate isn't going to come between us."

"I think she might."

He paused, wondering whether to say what was on his mind, or whether to take the more politic path and change the subject. In the end he went with what he always did and damn the consequences. "Did you want to marry me?" he asked.

She went bright red. "I … Rick, that's not …I … If …" She couldn't finish a single sentence.

"Simple question, Mags. Do you want me to go down on one knee and ask you to marry me?"

She licked suddenly dry lips. "Do you want to?"

"I asked first."

"I'm prettier."

"Can we fight about that later?" he asked, smiling. "Look, Mags, honestly, I don't see myself getting married again. I haven't grown up enough for that, and I wouldn't want to impose my insecurities and immaturity on you anyway. I love you too much for that. And yes, before you ask, I do love you. Always have. And it's why I won't ask."

"But if you did. Would you want me to say yes?"

He got up and walked to the wet bar, pouring them both a large scotch. In the time it took to come back, he knew what the answer was. "Yes. I think I would. I think we'd be good together. That's why I asked back in college. Why I married Meredith on the rebound. And whatever happens with Kate … we have what's best in a marriage anyway. Friendship."

"But not sex."

"You want sex?" He laughed. "Hell, Mags, you want sex you only had to ask."

She went pink again. "And be another notch on your bedpost? I don't think so."

"You're already there. One of the first."

She ignored his comments. "In fact, I'm surprised your bed's stayed in one piece. It must be down to matchwood by now."

"Why don't you come and find out?" He twitched his eyebrows at her.

She couldn't help it. She hit him.

---

Third morning in a row, and yet again he woke up next to Maggie, this time on his office sofa. This was getting to be a habit, but one which he didn't mind keeping for a while longer. Glancing over at the clock, he was surprised to find it was gone eleven, and the sounds and smells from the kitchen suggested his mother was making brunch.

Easing out from under Maggie's head, he padded to the window first, looking out at the city. _His_ city, he'd always considered. And for once it looked clean, the snowfall having smoothed out every grimy detail. It wouldn't last, of course. But for a while New York was pure, unsullied. People would sully it again soon enough, splash red across the white, until those same people couldn't wait for a thaw. Right now, though, he knew if he opened the window he'd be able to hear children laughing, having snowball fights, taking hold of the fun with both hands.

He smiled, and walked out into the kitchen.

"Hello, darling," Martha said, holding up a spatula. "French toast?"

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head at the same time. "Coffee," he grunted.

"You always were a grouch before that first shot of caffeine," she admonished, expertly flipping the bread in the frying pan. "Now me, I'm always bright and breezy first thing in the morning."

"That's because it isn't first thing in the morning, Mom. It's practically time for supper." He poured a mug of coffee and took a huge mouthful.

"Grumpy, too." Martha sighed. "You must get that from your father, whoever he was."

"It's a wonder I turned out as well adjusted as I did," Rick said, heading for the chair, having to swallow hard to get the coffee down. "I blame you."

"Nothing new there, then." Sliding the toast onto a plate, she picked up a fork, breaking off a fragment. "Dare I ask if you and Maggie came to a decision?"

"About what?" He laid his head back, letting the caffeine filter through his system.

"Whatever." She waved the fork. "Do I have to go and buy a wedding outfit?"

"No." He turned his head enough to look at her. "No-one's getting married. Only don't let me stop you from considering that as an option. I'd even pay."

"What, and miss all this happy banter? Perish the thought."

He had to smile. "Anyway, no. Maggie and I are best friends. That's more important."

"Does she agree?"

"She did last night. In fact, she came up with it."

"Good."

Martha sounded so relieved that Rick stared at her. "Why? What did she say to you?"

"Nothing. Honestly."

"Hmmn." He didn't look like he believed it, but wasn't going to pursue the matter.

"So is she going back to Los Angeles?"

"Not yet," Rick admitted. "Her next book is set in New York, so she said she was going to stay for a week or two. Do some research."

"Staying here?"

"Of course."

"No 'of course' about it." Martha came and sat opposite him. "What about Kate?"

"What about her?"

"Sweetheart, I'd have to be deaf, blind and ... actually, dead not to know you're interested in her. We all do. It's not like you've made a secret of it. How does Maggie feel about that?"

"She wants me to be happy. Because she cares."

"Hmmn." It was Martha's turn not to believe him.

He grinned. "Besides, two women fighting over me. That hasn't happened for a while. Might be fun."

"Now, Richard, that's not a good idea." She waved her fork at him again. "Maggie is very strong-willed, and Kate has a gun."

"Nobody's going to get hurt."

"Famous last words."

"No, actually, I plan my famous last words to be '_Nurse, would you mind bending over here and helping me blow out all one hundred and twenty eight candles on my birthday cake'_. Possibly followed by '_Nice cleavage_'."

"If you're not careful it's going to be '_Ouch_'."

"Such concern for my well-being."

"If either of them killed you, who else would I have to embarrass?"

"Alexis. She's next in line."

"Now you know I wouldn't do that to her. It's much more fun doing it to you."

"I figured that out a long time ago." The phone next to Martha rang. And rang. "Aren't you going to answer that?" Rick asked finally.

"It won't be for me. All my friends know not to call at this ungodly hour."

He narrowed his eyes and levered himself to his feet. Grabbing the phone off the cradle he said, "Castle."

"Ryan here."

Rick half-smiled. "How's it going?"

"Cold. Look, you might want to get over to the old pinball machine factory on Lexington and 17th."

He straightened up, coffee and mother forgotten. "A murder?"

"Yeah. Kate's on her way, but ... you're going to like this one."

"Freaky?"

"Let's just say ... tilt."

Rick raised one eyebrow. "I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up. "Mom, can you –"

"I'll explain to Maggie," Martha agreed.

"Thanks." He grinned and hurried towards the door, finding his shoes and slipping them on before grabbing his overcoat.

Martha shook her head. "Here we go again …" she murmured.

__________________________________

**Author's Notes:**

Okay, there are things that don't quite look the same as the show. For instance, the loft where Rick lives isn't quite as I imagined it. I can only apologise, hope it didn't detract too much from the story, and say that until 7th May I had not seen a full episode, just the clips on . Living in England made it difficult, to say the least. Due to this, please take the timeline as being mid Season One.

This particular tale got told because I agree with Rick in the last chapter – sometimes you need to get an idea out of your mind before it does something nasty on the floor. But I hope you enjoyed the story, and I want to thank all those who reviewed. There might be more …

Thanks for reading!

Jane


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